Sold My Red Horse
by Grosby
Summary: For Sam it begins the way it has always begun. For Sam it begins with fire. Now very AU, Post 5.22. slight slash. not wincest.
1. prologue

A/N: This is a **sequel**, to two earlier works: _'we foresee the Mercy (that's been shown my young limbs_) and _This is my excevation (and today is Kumran_), which are both one-shots. You probably need to read those to understand this fic.

Also, while I planed this as Gen, my muse is playing up so it may become slash or at least pre-slash (but not wincest) but i'll let you know if it does happen. in any case no complaints cause you've been warned.

**spoilers for 5.22**

**Disclaime**r: I own nothing: Title comes from lyrics of a song Lump Sum by Bon Iver. Poem by philip larkin.

* * *

**Sold My Red Horse (for a venture home.)**

So to hear it said

He walked out on the whole crowd

Leaves me flushed and stirred,

Like _Then she undid her dress_

Or _Take that you bastard_;

Surely I can, if he did?

And that helps me to stay.

philip Larkin, _Poetry of Departures_

* * *

_Prolog _

When he arrives he almost turns around and leaves again.

The house is so warm, a lit up in the dusk of an ordinary suburban street, a basketball hoop above the garage door and an umbrella stand next to the welcome mat.

And there, juxtaposed against this is Dean; face still painted with violet and violence. Boots dusty from the miles he's come and leather jacket slung around shoulders slumped with loss and wariness and the numb feeling of being alive.

Lisa, doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve the leftovers of a man she barely knows intruding into the life she's built here. Ben doesn't deserve to see what's become of his hero.

He knocks anyway.

He'd like to say, that he does it for Sammy, because he made him promise. Because it's the last promise he'll ever make Sam and he needs to keep it otherwise he'll go crazy. It's true enough, but it's not the whole truth. For two years now Dean's been running and hiding and saying no and staying alive. For two years now Dean's been living the systematic destruction of his world and sometimes he's had no one, not even Sam or Castiel or Bobby. Sometimes he's been holding himself and everything else together with nothing more than stale prayers and bullets.

And now it's over, and the world hasn't actually ended but Dean's world still kind of has. Now Castiel's gone back to Heaven and Bobby's gone back to the junkyard and Sam…fuck, Dean can't even think it.

And…twelve years ago Lisa had been sex and escapism when Sam and John had been fighting. Three years ago she'd been _if only_ when Dean had only had a year and couldn't afford dreams.

Dean wants this, wants Lisa and Ben and he has for a long time. Maybe not as much as he wants Sam and the road, but Dean can't have those anymore and maybe he can have this.

And it isn't entirely fair but Dean's tired of other's needs and saving people.

So he knocks anyway.

* * *

Dean is kind of useless at normal.

Lisa is patient but firm.

He learns.

The first time he tries to cook he sets off the fire alarm, the shrill warning annoying as he scrapes the charred remains of bacon into the sink. For the next week he is restricted to toast duty (on a pre-set timer) and his eventual return to the kitchen is under strict supervision.

He's also managed to break the vacuum cleaner, twice. There are, Lisa explains painstakingly, certain things that can overload the motor if sucked up. He needs to remove these items before he begins.

Just because there is a special on at the supermarket, doesn't mean he should by four loafs of bread either, because it will go stale before they can eat it all. Dean was surprised with that one. When he was young it would have been a decent bargain; in a family where they're a two growing boys who can't cook and a father was often away. Sandwiches had been a staple of Dean's childhood. But, Lisa now tells him; green bits of mold should not simply be cut from the edible portion of the slice. The loaf is simply thrown away.

It's a new existence, one of neighborhood lunches and afterschool activities. Where he has dates he marks on a calendar and when Ben has problems at school it actually matters because they're still going to be here in month.

It's hard and very foreign and Dean is kind of useless at normal.

But he learns.

* * *

Sometimes Dean still catches glimpses of his old life.

An unexplained death in the paper, a series of confusing events on the news. A phone call from Bobby, apologetically asking the details of a monster he once encountered, or the exact phasing of some exoticism Castiel taught him.

Dean still drives the impala, because he can't bear to lock her away in some storage unit and let the dust gather and the memories feaster.

And sometimes he talks to Bobby, or finds some sign hidden from the unknowing world, and his hands tighten on the wheel, white knuckles and vibrating mullet rock. Sometimes the road stretches out beyond the local seven/eleven or Ben's school and Dean can almost taste the miles.

And then he goes home and kisses Lisa on the cheek and helps Ben with his homework. Then he goes home and tucks the desire and all the never-can-bes away again.

He never wants less, but he does less frequently. Dean has made promises, not just to Sam, not just that final weighing oath. Dean has promised Lisa and Ben and himself.

And no, maybe it's not the life he would have picked, thirteen years ago, five years ago. Maybe there is always that tiny unhealing place in the corner of his mind.

But…he's not just here because of promises and duty; he doesn't stay because Sam wanted him to.

Dean is alive and this is how he lives.

* * *

When Dean first meet Ben he had been eight years old and fairly certain in his reasoning that Dean actually hung the sky.

When Dean wanders back into their lives three years later, eleven year old Ben takes it in stride, accepting Dean's new permanent placement into his world.

It isn't really until he hits puberty -a graceless stretch of limbs and overblown testosterone- that Dean becomes a questionable source of authority. Something foreign, neither mother nor biological father, with a history unknown and unexplained.

It is also around this time that Ben becomes obsessed with idea of Sam.

Dean never speaks of Sam, of the aborted apocalypse and the endless Fall into the center of the underworld. Ben himself has vague recollections of someone tall and dark with slanted, kind hazel eyes. At the time he'd been too caught up with Dean and their shared adventure to notice particularly, the fleeting presence of Sam.

But it's been years since then and now Ben is vocal about the things Lisa knows better than to talk of. Ben questions what happened to Dean and why he turned up bloody and bruised on their doorstep. Why Dean sometimes stares through him when he rolls his eyes or drawls some sarcastic comment.

There are also, Ben notes, no pictures of Sam in their house. At least not one taken after the age of six months, like the one folded into Dean's wallet of the whole Winchester family. Sam is both a beloved and untouchable subject for Dean and Ben doesn't understand.

It comes to a head in May, 2013, when Dean's kind of caught up in his own head space (because Sam would be 30 if he hadn't saved the world three years ago), and Ben is fourteen and kind of angry all the time. Ben knows why he and his mother can't own all of him.

Ben says, "How'd he die" sudden and demanding and they both know who he's taking about.

Dean goes still. Not like he's angry, or horrified. It's a kind of breathlessness, brought on by a thousand answers of which none are close enough. He remembers the Hole and the moment his brother's eyes returned. He never saw the complete decent, the moment Sam blew out of existence, burned out by the grace and fury of Lucifer's Fall.

"There was a war." He settles for "And Sam…he ended it."

Ben frowns at him, as though sensing the incompleteness of the answer. There are things Dean can't explain and there are things he won't. Sam is a little of both.

"He went to Stanford you know." Ben's best friend's brother just started there and for the last month he's had a Cardinal flag on his wall. "Got a scholarship. Full ride and everything."

Dean swallows, because it's hard to talk about this without remembering Stull, but Sam is more than his death, however righteous and terrible it was.

It's time, that Dean remembered that.

* * *

Lisa never touches the hand-print. Not when she taps his arm for attention, or rubs his shoulder in comfort.

Not when they're twisted up in sheets and sweat and reaching, wanting every part of the other.

It's so very deliberate; the thing is the most prominent of all his scars, seared red flesh, unmistakably male. Her eyes had skidded over it the first night she'd pulled him inside, half shattered with grief. She folded him into bed in nothing but his boxes without even asking why he was there.

For a moment though, her hand had lingered over that mark. Then she looked at his face and pulled back and she'd never tried to touch it since

It's a bit like their relationship: Dean never explains and Lisa never asks and he doesn't quite no if that's because she's afraid of the answer or just that he won't give it.

* * *

It's been six years.

Six years of regular working hours and birthdays and Christmases. Six years of ignoring the strange things in the dark, of choosing over and over Lisa and Ben and being a family.

It's been six years and then he appears like some long expected thing when Dean hadn't even known he'd been waiting.

It's night. There are no clouds, only stars cold and dead a million years hanging overhead. The sky does not show the future, only things already gone. It's May, of course May because these things are circular and Dean's in the garage scraping over a small problem in the Impala, she's getting very old now and needs more help than ever.

It's night and it's May and Dean's skin has been itching for hours and then the streetlight that's never worked roars to life across the street.

"Dean."

The problem, with not knowing he's been waiting, is that he's invested himself here. Chosen here so many times it's almost engraved. So that even now, breathless with want and hope and _Finally_, he's also thinking of Lisa's work dinner on Tuesday and Ben's graduation in five weeks.

he says, "I need your help."

The moment fractures and stills. A hundred different futures rippling and changing and waiting.

And Dean replies "Okay" because it's the only answer he could ever give.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/n:** Chapter one here. Don't expect the next one for a while though, we're coming up to my mid semster break and that means my assignments are due.

Dean's birthdate (Jan 24th 1979) sourced from SPN wiki as was the state (indiana) that Lisa and Ben live in.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Poem extract by Robert Frost.

**Chapter 1**

'So Eden sank to grief,  
So dawn goes down to day.  
Nothing gold can stay.'

Robert Frost, _Nothing Gold can Stay._

**

* * *

**

Later, in the raw aftershock, he thinks that in some ways he should have been expecting it. the undoubtable inevertability. Nothing is forever.

For Sam it begins (ends) the way it has always begun (the way it has always ended.)

For Sam it begins with fire.

* * *

_London, 1979._

It's the end of January, still deep winter and snow is slowly falling, catching in the dirty streets and pollution. Come morning, when the children depart for school, it will have melted into brown-white sludge in the gutters and condensation on the windows.

Sam sits quiet and complatitive in the third row from the back of Westminster Abby. His head bent and hands laid atop one another, not quite clasped. He is silent.

"You _do_ know your an angel right?" Gabriel asks as he moves towards Sam from the entrance way. They've been in Britain about 5 months, a small possible apocalypse has now been averted and Gabriel had wanted to celebrate. Sam, strangely withdrawn, had asked to come here instead.

"You don't need to do the kiss-arse human stuff anymore." He continues, "You've already made it sweetheart. You're here." Sam allows the memories to flicker by without even really seeing them.

Gabriel lets out a put-upon sigh and flops down beside him on the pew. " _Christ,_ Couldn't you just talk to Chuck about whatever it is?" _(Lucifer and Michael screaming/ Kali glaring through half lidded eyes/ Castiel's weary face in the middle of the Sahara) _"Go straight to the source, yeah?"

Sam doesn't say anything. fire. Despite what Gabriel believes he isn't preying; didn't even do so in his final years of humanity so long ago, because once he'd meet them it had been impossible to prey to angels.

Sam is remembering, in ways he's rarely allowed himself, not since that last meeting with Castiel on a not so ordinary suburban street. He's deliberately moved forward in an endless stream of assignments; prophets and holy crusades and the last ripples of the War filtering through history. Heaven is not what it once was, for both good and bad, and even with Castiel and Gabriel and Sam it's been an uphill battle. Chuck has still refused to return, until his message has become clear to all of his divine children, whatever message that may be.

But tonight two hours and four thousand miles away, in a small hospital in Lawrance, his brother will be born. Dean Winchester, named for himself by a retired hunter and a future one. Dean Winchester who is still the most gloriously _human_ man Sam has ever known, even over a thousand years later.

Dean Winchester brother of Sam Winchester. Sam Winchester who was a man of faith and doubt, and vast love and unquenchable anger. Who lived a life with one foot in the shadows and died in a righteous fall. The man Sam is not any more, or ever can be again.

Sam rearranges his hands. Gabriel does not need these burdens. Fire. Gabriel does not know what day it is.

"I thought," (A_ low lit bar in Mississippi/ A crucifix hanging from the neck of a young girl/ _fire._/ Gabriel glowing in an ethereal light.)_ "That blasphemes were below you. A cheap rebellion, you put it, like calling your parents names."

Gabriel puffs his chest out, a spattering of hot Middle-Eastern sand and a bearded man. "Christ is cool. Only the mortal incarnation after all and I had a hand in raising him. Kid knew how to party. Water into wine. _Classic_."

Fire.

Sam blinks and Gabriel glances up at him (_Castiel shrouded in a diminished grace/ Lucifer's stubborn set jaw/Kali winking and disappearing_) "You okay?" he asks "You didn't even laugh at my joke."

"Yes" Sam muttered, (_a distant half-herd lecture/ _fire._/ Dean hissing obscenities under his breath/_Fire._/ Jess repeating a question.)_ "Something's kind of-"

Fire

FIRE

**FIRE**.

_**~Fire like Sam remembers from a thousand years ago and twenty-five years in the future. Fire like three years from now which he doesn't. Fire; rising too fast and hot, touched with things not of God. Slithers of ash and brimstone and agony. A house on a not so suburban street is burning. A not so ordinary house, a not so- there is Hell Fire on earth and people are dying. Somebody is already dead.~**_

Sam snaps up and back into a Church in the seventies, gasping for air he hasn't needed for centuries and with Gabriel's hand too tight and hot on his arm. "Sam?"

"We have to-" Sam stands. "I need to-" (_Jess on the celling, mouth open for a silent scream/ His father's body igniting/ the cage all around him.)_

"Sam" Gabriel demands, "What the fuck is going on?"

"Dean." Sam manages at last, "The wards broke, there's hell fire and demons, _Dean_!"

Sam hurtles into flight before he even knows if Gabriel's following.

* * *

_Indiana, 2016_

The house is already mostly gone when he arrives. Orange tongues of flame bursting through glass and black smoke pouring into a cloudless sky. Sam uses it to hide the exorcisms of the two demons he sees in the crowd of morbid onlookers. The freed victims spin around in panic and begin to scream, creating a distraction so Sam can slip through the burning front door.

Inside he can feel no demons but cannot sense any other life yet either. His jacket brushes an inflamed chair and begins to smoulder but Sam ignores it.

Distantly he can hear the wail of sirens. It's very late, almost early morning and no one would have been awake. The fire is impossibly strong, impossibly quick.

He finds her at the top of the stairs, reaching upwards as though she was moving in that direction, rather than for the exist. Her ruined and smoldering flesh holds no life and Sam pauses in an all to human horror for Lisa's fate.

This is the way it ends for the women who love Winchester men. In blood and sacrifice and fire.

Sam whispers a blessing and continues the journey she cannot.

In the second room, down the hall, where the heat and the smoke have not spread fatally yet Sam finally senses it; the all to familiar blood line. The entrance to room is blocked and the curtains and bed beneath the window are ablaze. He moves to the cupboard and wrenches the door open.

A bare handful of life scattered though unconscious male tissue.

Of course. This is the way it begins for the blood of Cain and Able. In loss and pain and _fire_.

This is the way it begins (this is the way it ends.)

Sam presses two fingers to Ben's forehead and flees.

* * *

**t.b.c**

**please review? Pretty please? with chocolate sprinkles?**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So I got off work a few hours early and thus actually had some time to write. Just a short chapter I'm afraid, in which we move my very slow plot forward a smidgen.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Poem extract from t s eillot

* * *

**Chapter Two**

At the first turning of the second stair

I turned and saw below

The same shape twisted on the banister

Under the vapor in the fetid air

Struggling with the devil of the stair who wears

The deceitful face of hope and despair.

t s eillot, _Ash Wensday._

* * *

It has been two earth hours since Sam fled the burning ruin of his brother's sanctuary, no thoughts for his destination but _Safety_.

He's lost more of himself than he had previously believed. If he's thinking of liner time as earth's and unconsciously views this house as his salvation. The years between have lulled him into a false security, and his convictions are built on unsubstantial foundations. He should not have let himself forget his previous human certainty, for it is the truth, everlasting. Proved by the note on the door.

God is nowhere.

Ben is laid out beside him, body made as new by the force of Sam's grace. He sleeps now, curled towards the warmth of Sam's leg, familiar features relaxed. Sam runs a hand through his hair and waits.

* * *

Two and a half earth hours after Sam arrived here, the door opens. When Gabriel walks in, and the small, glowing embers of his faith rekindle slightly.

Gabriel casts tired eyes from Sam, to the slumbering Ben and he sighs.

_(Lucifer's bright smile as he thrusted the sword/ Michael standing still and silent/ Castiel small and lost and human.)_ "The mother?" He asks.

Sam looks away. "Lisa was already gone." The scene flashes between them, over shadowed by Jessica and Mary. "Dean wasn't there. I could barely even feel his imprint. Dean hasn't been there in _weeks_."

Gabriel hadn't asked about his brother, but that's the part Sam is the most confused about. God is one thing, but Dean is not the type of man who abandons his child. Whether he knows Ben is his, or not.

Gabriel looks troubled, more troubled than Sam's ever seen him and there is_-(That first tiny meadow where he ran to from heaven/ Dean naming Gabriel as angelic/ Lucifer standing in the meeting room of a hotel_) "Where's Chuck?" Gabriel asks slowly.

Sam thrusts the note at him. He does not speak or else it may be the end of him. It is all there anyway; white and crisp and bitter.

_~Gone observing the vast beauty and complexity of my own glorious creation._

_Also possibly fishing~_

_Chuck._

Gabriel crushes the note and for a moment there is an anger in him far older and more terrible than Sam's. Then he sighs again and he just looks very worn. "Of course. Silly of me, to think…"

He trails off. Sam doesn't watch the memories, they will show nothing he wants to know. He looks back down at Ben, who's breath stutters and fingers curl around the edge of Sam's shirt.

_(Ben eight years old and grinning/ Gabriel handing him a stolen beer./ The bright red hand print on his brother's pale skin.)_ "We need Castiel." He says at last. "If Chuck's gone again and Dean's missing-" he stops at the look on Gabriel's face, "What Is it?" Sam asks.

_(Michael placing a comforting and unwelcome hand on Gabriel's shoulder/ Raphael's spiteful grimace/ Chuck's face; at once condemning and forgiving.)_ "I went upstairs, while you were in Indiana. Castiel…No one knows where he is. He dropped off the radar after his last assignment."

For a moment neither of them speaks. Chuck has no doubt simply decided not to get involved in his children's dramas, as is his fancy. But Dean and Castiel both disappearing? That is unlikely to be a coincidence.

"Surely he wouldn't." Sam half-asks. (_Castiel's haunted face under a burnt out street lamp as he finally told Sam why he cannot see Dean.)_ "He would have had to break the First Law. _Ignored_ Free Will. He fought for that. _Died_ for it. He _couldn't_-"

"Couldn't he?" Gabriel asks seriously, _(Castiel hovering over an occupied bed in a small motel room)_ "You _know_ how he is when it comes to Dean."

And Sam sees the echo of Castiel's face again; lost and longing as he gestured towards Dean's dark window.

It is too much, the thought. Because Sam has made this fundamental in his being. All that has kept him from hope-filled nights on an empty street. From brushing Dean's sleeping mind and telling him of his salvation.

_If I don't, they can't._

If no angel touches Dean, then no demon can either. If Castiel has broken this accord, betrayed this trust, Sam does not know if he will be able to forgive him. Not with Lisa dead and Ben forced into this world.

"We have to find them." Sam tells Gabriel. "Even if-" he swallows, (_Uriel enraged face/ Castiel calling him an abomination/ John yelling at him as he retches for the door)_ "There has to be a _reason_. And Dean needs to know, about Ben and- and Lisa."

"Yeah?" Gabriel asks, suddenly angry, and Sam tries not to tense because he knows that Gabe is not angry with _him_.

"How the Hell do we do that, Sammy? Castiel's hiding his trail. We can't ask for help from one of the others because the whole of bloody heaven's already on the brink of a civil war and if there's even a hint that Cas-"

He physically restrains himself and there is a long pause. _(Sam and Dean spied through fire/ Kali bent over a bleeding man/ Sam as he was only three hours ago in an English church.) _"I mean, seriously Sam, where the hell do we even _start_?" He asks.

The answer comes like a divine thing, but it is not. Sam has become, too lost to his own grace. Has locked too much of what and who he once was away. It is time he recall the human thing inside himself.

"So we don't track Castiel." He tells Gabriel in a tangle of guns and monsters and Sam Winchester, _hunter_. "We track Dean. And for that, I _do_ know someone who can help us."

**-T.B.C-**

**Please review. Feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So I maybe was writing when I should have been studing…Still you get a 3000 word chapter for it, right?

Details from Tall Tales and Hammer from Gods sourced from Supernatural Wiki.

Disclaimer: I own Nothing. Poem extract from Ts Eliot.

oOoOoOo

**Chapter Three **** -**

_Dedicated to Nephtys Rayesh, thank you for all your wonderful support. XD._

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices

In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices

And the weak spirit quickens to rebel

For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell

Quickens to recover

The cry of quail and the whirling plover

And the blind eye creates

The empty forms between the ivory gates

And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth.

TS Eliot, Ash Wednesday

oOoOoOo

"So" Sam stalled, shifting the still unconscious Ben to a more comfortable position "You want to go in first?"

Gabriel turns slightly panicked eyes on him. (_A muddy truck pulling to a stop./ Sam's face drawn and pleading/ A wooden stake hurtling towards his chest_) "NO! Are you _mad_? I'm a trickster and he's _Bobby Singer_!"

Sam's mouth thins, Stull and the harsh snap of Bobby's spine falls between them.

"He knows you're an archangel Gabriel." Sam tells him patiently "He's not going to stake you. In fact, any reaction you get will probably be a hell of a lot better than mine. The last time we saw each other, I was possessed by Lucifer and I _killed_ him."

Emotional blackmail does not work with Gabriel however, and Ben is getting heavy, never mind Sam's inhuman strength. "Technically he can't really hurt either of us." He compromises. "So just together, yeah?"

Gabriel laughs, (_Dean dressed in a white lab coat/ Castiel perched on the lip of the Great Sphinx/ Sam irritably sipping a warm beer._) "Oh Sammy." He tells him "Not even if your life depended on it."

Grumbling Sam goes forward first. Gabriel really is a selfish asshole, no matter how amusing his apparent fear of Bobby Singer is.

oOoOoOo

Bobby is sitting in his kitchen, a whisky dulling the raw aches left from his latest hunt, when he first hears the soft drift of voices up his driveway.

"So tell me, if this place is so covered in Enochian that you can't even_ sense_ it with grace, how exactly do you expect to get in?"

The first voice is unknown; a light, sarcastic tenor that raises the hair on Bobby's neck in suspicion. The words it is speaking don't help matters. Knowledge of his Enochain? Sensing with grace? Bobby doesn't like angels at all and he likes them even less when they know where he lives.

"Well actually." Another voice replies, so familiar it's like a soccer punch to the gut, "You walk in. Don't forget these wards were set up to accommodate Cas. So you can't find it and you certainly can't just zap in, but if you already know where it is…"

Bobby doesn't hear anymore because he's already grabbed his shotgun (for what little good it will do him) and is slamming open the screen door.

If he's going out, he's going out fighting.

They are halfway to the house and when he sees him, Bobby recognizes Gabriel immediately from the unsuccessful hunt at Springfield University a decade ago. He's of course heard about the incident at the Elysian Fields Hotel, and Gabriel's ultimate sacrifice, but whether the angel had been on their side Bobby has never entirely decided. He is back in any case, which indicates some deal has been made. Resurrection never comes for free.

And then there is the thing next to Gabriel, which looks like the boy Bobby used to know, the same wide-eyed stare. The slightly down-turned mouth that Bobby remembers from those final two years spent lingering on the edge of a dark place.

But this creature, like every other that has falsely worn this face, is not quite right in the skin. Has failed to catch some slight details, which should linger in the expressions.

Bobby raises his shotgun. It's not the first time he's shot Sam Winchester after all.

The affect is immediate, though it is not what Bobby expects, the creature does not attack but rather recoils, hands rising protectively around it's previously unnoticed burden. Bobby lows the gun with a curse as he sees the mop of dirty brown hair and the lithe limbs and realizes that the creature is holding a human boy.

Bobby cannot fire without risking hitting the kid by mistake. His only, merge means of defense gone, Bobby is once again at the mercy of angels.

Gabriel has moved slightly in front of the other two, almost protective, but in the subsequent impasse in which Bobby does not raise he gun again, or otherwise move from his position, the other creature uncurls once more. It moves slowly, almost hesitantly towards Bobby, until it's less than two meters away, at the bottom of the stairs and Bobby's knuckles are white on the rifle.

Then the creature puts the kid down at Bobby's feet and hurries back and the hunter doesn't quite know how proceed.

He eventually leans down, not taking his eyes off the two motionless beings, and gropes two fingers around the boy's neck for a pulse. He is rewarded with a steady rhythm and his eyes turn questioning.

"Kid's fine Singer." Gabriel tells him dismissively, "Just a little out of it for a while. Almost being barbecued then getting packed with grace takes it out of you fragile little guys."

"It's Ben, Bobby." The Sam look-alike tells him with the kid's old earnest expression, "I don't- know if you've ever meet him, but Dean's gone and I didn't know who else to come to."

"Sam" Gabriel hisses "Ixnay on the Dean-stray!"

Bobby cocks his gun again, finger itchy on the trigger. "Alright." He growled "Who or what are you and what the hell have done with Dean?"

"Now look what you've done." Gabriel once more mutters but the other ignores him "It's really me." It whispers, eyes entreating him and Bobby wishes it hadn't got that expression right, but it has. "Please Bobby, I'm really Sam."

"Sam Winchester is in Hell." Bobby all but yells "He sacrificed his _soul_ to stop you lot, so you got some nerve-"

"You shot me twice." It interrupts him with a soft voice. "At Stull, right before I- before _Lucifer_," it corrects itself forcefully. "snapped your neck. I've still got the scars, got the chest carvings too." He finishes pulling up his shirt.

The twin circular patches off pale pink skin wink at him from shoulder and chest. That rules out a shapeshifter, which had no chance to steal the form after those wounds were inflicted. And while it could be a demon, Bobby's at a loss as to how it could have gotten Sam's body from hell or known about the events of Stull Cemetery. Of course that leaves…"

"He is _not_ Lucifer." Gabriel calls out suddenly, grace infusing into his voice and making it thunder. Bobby curses again because he had honestly forgotten the mind-reading habit of angels.

"I don't hang out with Big Bro." Gabriel continues, tone playful once more. "He doesn't play nice with others. I got this nice, big, _fatal_ stab wound to prove it."

"Your not looking very dead to me bucko." Bobby replies not backing down an inch, "But if your so sure about it, then tell me how Sam could have gotten out of the cage when Luci couldn't?"

"The cage was not designed to hold anything but it's original prisoner." Sam tells him, "Once you understand that, there's actually nothing keeping you there."

"Where's Mickey then? Back upstairs?" Bobby demands.

Sam's eyes flash, "Michael is trapped by things that have nothing to do with god-steel." He all but spits, "His glorious war has not been won yet after all."

"Yeah?" Bobby asks, "And what about Adam?"

And Sam's eyes squeeze shut and he turns away, never mind that Bobby still has a gun on him and Gabriel reaches out a hand to his shoulder. "Kid got caught in the crossfire." Gabriel tells the old hunter firmly "Didn't make it out of the pit."

Sam turns back around again, but he doesn't say anything else, just looks at Bobby like something not human but none the less, undeniably _Sam_.

And God save him, Bobby puts the shotgun down.

oOoOoOo

Bobby is still watching him with distrustful eyes, which Sam tries to ignore as he enters the house. Gabriel, as the most neutral party between them, has diplomatically plucked up Ben. While he is easily able to carry the weight, Ben is just as tall as he is (possibly taller) and it is somewhat comical to see him trying to maneuver the limp form.

This is a good thing, when dealing with a trigger happy Bobby, to appear non-threatening.

They emerge into the living room and Gabriel flops Ben down with a grateful sigh. Sam sits awkwardly, in the green, swade chair next to the bookshelf, which has always been his favorite. Bobby fixes him with a measuring gaze. Gabriel notices and saunters over- possible as a distraction but more likely he is just trying to stir Bobby up- and perches on the arm of Sam's chair.

Bobby grunts at this, "Start talking." He orders.

Sam looks down at his hands trying to figure out where to begin. "What do you know, about Dante's inferno?" he asks.

Bobby purses his lips slightly. "Enough."

Sam nods slowly. "He got a lot of stuff wrong of course." He tells him "About who goes where and what happens to them. But in essence it's a decent outline. There are nine circles; each for a different class of Sin and they spiral downwards to the bottom- The ninth circle. The frozen lake at the center of which lies Lucifer's burning, god-forged cage."

(_Sometimes, he can see beyond the raging angels and his own agony. Sometimes, when his face is pressed right up against the white-hot, metal bars he can see the frozen surface just beyond their prison. A mirage almost, of everything he screams for in the unbearable heat. Not water, he recalls from some far off memory of dust and yellowy pages, but the trapped souls of Traitors. Then he will be shoved back, to the centre of the fray once more. Back to burning on the ceiling in never ending cycles of death.)_

Sam swallows and licks suddenly dry lips. He's never had to explain this before; the other angels, for good or ill, already understood where he'd been and what that meant.

"There's no limbo. Or purgatory." He continues, "those are just Christian errors. Many things the bible says will send you to Hell, won't. The first layer is the rack, where Dean was, the place of lesser-sinners and deal makers. It runs at the speed of ten years for every human month. The further down you go, the fast time runs in comparison. I was…" he swallows again, "I was down there a long time."

_(After Adam is gone time becomes almost completely fathomless. Before he could peer into the other human and remember linnierness; that there was a future and a past, rather than simply an everlasting horror of Now. Angels do not work like this; inside they are as existential as heaven, weaving between the once and the maybe. So Sam becomes too, as his grace grows and there is no single directional current left to ground him. It is only later, during the years he walks the cold surface of the lake which never seems to end, that he manages to calculate continuous time again.)_

Bobby's eyes narrow. "How long?" he asks.

"Earth time, just over a month. Hell time…a thousand years." Sam replies quietly. "And then another century or so getting out."

He looks down, unwilling to see whatever is in Bobby's eyes right now, whether it be unwanted pity or worse- complete indifference.

"But that's not important." He continues quickly. "What you need to understand, is that space is ruled differently in Hell. Things which are not physical, have their own substance and weight and size. The cage was built to the exact dimensions of an archangel's existence. Of _Lucifer's_ existence. But…after we Fell, there were two Archangels in that space. Two humans which were bright and vast enough to carry them. You cannot imagine how tightly we were bound together there. It is…unfathomable. We integrated, bleed into one another."

Bobby opens his mouth sharply, back straightening and Sam hurriedly clarifies, "Not our souls. It is impossible to blend the true essence of individual entities, but things did seep, unexpectedly. It is… the best explanation for what I became, though God has hinted that he had a hand in my creation."

(_For a few hundred years, when the memories first come, Sam loses himself. Condemns Lucifer and all else in Creation by turns. He still adores God, who is ALL, who has cast him down for no more than loving Him too greedily and too much. He grieves his brother, who was simply to blinded to see that even what feels Right is sometimes not when faced with the Glory of the Single Truth. The knowledge- so much knowledge that Sam never wanted- fills him until he overflows. Until, even after he has recovered himself; as a thing not Michael or Lucifer but __**Sam**__, he knows there are pieces of him which have been irrevocably lost.)_

Bobby surveys him with the clinical gaze of thirty years spent chasing things in the dark, "You're an angel." He states flatly.

Sam nods even though it wasn't really question. "Yes" he says "I am."

(_There are those which will never accept him, who claim his grace is the taint of Lucifer, the great seducer. Who view him as a stain upon Heaven, responsible for all their current woes. The hard thing is that they are not wrong entirely; Some of his grace is Lucifer's and were it not for Sam, Dean would have said yes and the angels would have their paradise. All of Heaven is balanced on the edge of a knife. Caught between those who follow Castiel; who claims to see god, and those who still believe their Father dead and their Savoir locked away in the darkest region of Hell. Sooner or later there will be war, Sam knows, though who will triumph he does not.) _

Bobby of course, sees none of this with his blind human senses, though Sam has felt Gabriel grow tenser through the steady flow of images. Sam has never spoken so much of these things, Neither Gabriel or Castiel, have ever experienced so much of the Pit through Sam's eyes.

Bobby's mouth twists into a frown and when he speaks there is thinly veiled anger in his voice. "Okay, so your Sam, I believe you." He growls. "Now would you like to tell me why, if you got out the Cage in a month our time, you haven't dam well told your brother your alive and aren't bloody burning for the last six years!"

"I _wanted_ to Bobby." Sam tells him, because this, _this_ is the most important thing. This is what he has denied himself and been denied. "I -God- I knew how Dean would…But I _couldn't_ Bobby. Not because I was afraid or some other stupid reason!" He adds seeing the furious wrench of Bobby's jaw.

"The universe has laws it must abide to- Fundamental laws of God. Nothing could touch Dean, Bobby. Not angels, not demons- not anything. Not unless he hunted it first. If I had broken that law, if I had gone after him, then everything else; everything waiting in the darkness, every demon out for revenge- _Everything else_ could too."

oOoOoOo

Bobby is quiet for a long time, and Sam lets him turn it all over in his mind. He owes Bobby this and not just because of Stull. The elder hunter may not have said it, but Sam's death and believed imprisonment has affected him too. Sam could have told Bobby, chose not to because of the risk to Dean, if Bobby should not be able to stay silent and pass news of Sam onto him.

After twenty minutes Gabriel stands with a purposeful air. "Enough." He says, "We need to figure out our position. The kid will wake up soon and we should know what it is we intend to do before then."

It is one of the rare times Sam sees shadow of Gabriel origins over his playful nature; his place amongst the First Four and why so many angels were ready to follow him immediately, even after all the centuries of absence.

"Dean is missing, Castiel is also gone. It's unlikely that's unrelated, but there must be some dire reason for Cas to have approached Dean." Sam says slowly, "I wouldn't even believe it, if not for the attack on Ben and Lisa. Ben should have been protected by baring Dean's blood and Lisa too, because she's Ben's mother. They should have been safe, unless the First Law was violated by an angel."

"This First Law being the reason you couldn't see Dean." Bobby clarifies.

"That humans have the right to chose." Gabriel sneers at him. "That not even the Divine Rulings of Heaven and therefore Hell are allowed to surpass Free Will. Dean chose to forsake his destiny, chose freedom from Heaven and Hell, and so neither of them were allowed near him." He screws up his nose. "It's a pretty extreme case. I honestly don't know what would have happened if he'd died."

Sam shudders at the image of Dean flickering out of creation the way Adam did.

"Wait a second." Bobby says, wide eyes flying back to Sam. "You said Ben should have been protected because he has Dean's blood. Are you telling me that Dean is Ben's actual father? Biologically?"

"Yeees," said Gabriel slowly, not understanding his surprise.

"I don't know if Lisa lied to him in '07 and then just couldn't tell him later, or if she actually didn't know." Sam explains, "But he's Dean's. There's so much history in the bloodline any angel could sense it, but since it's still sort of mine too, I'm extra aware of it. He's my nephew."

Now it is Gabriel who turns surprised eyes on him, as if he has not truly considered Ben's relationship to Sam before.

Bobby looks to once more have something on his mind. "I been assuming." The hunter says, "Cause you don't have her with you and your telling me about an attack. Lisa…"

"She's gone Bobby." Sam tells him sadly "she was gone before I even got there. Ben nearly was too. Their house had been burned with Hell Fire. It had to have been Demons."

Bobby swears quietly and twists his cap in his hands as he looks over at Ben. "I used to think your brother was just being silly when he went on about that Winchester curse, but maybe he was right. Nothing ain't ever over for you boys."

He sighed sounding very old. "Come on, lets figure out what to do before the kid wakes up and we have to tell him."

**-T.B.C-**

**Please review? Any questions you might have, or inconstancies you noticed. Feedback is 3.**


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: I just finished my test (I think I did well…) and as celebration you guys get another chapter (round of a applause please…lol.) and the first very subtle hint of the main pairing…cookies for those who spot it. (not wincest)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Poem extract from Collins and later Sam memory from Eliot.

**Note: I had a review questioning this so I would just like to clarify something. I am atheist. I do not believe in a christian god nor pagan ones or ones of any other religion. I work within the fictional cannon of SPN series.**

**SPN is a t.v. series which is based on Christian mythology. While I myself am aware that that many religions pre-date Christianity, the SPN cannon works under the concept of a Christian based ruling body. It convays the themes that the Christian God is the orginal creator of man, the universe etc. 5.19 shows that in cannon other gods (called Pagan by the series but are in actual fact eastern religions such as hindoism. Acording to acidemia Paganism is pre-christian era western religion.) are less powerful than even a biblical angel- Lucifer/Gabriel. **

**I do not personally believe that Christianity trumps other religions or that any god is more or less real than any other, but the fact is that SPN does. The section on Pagan (SPN pagan, not actual pagan) is merely a philisophical attempt to explain the exsistance of other gods in a Christian based fictional universe when Christian Dogma states clearly that there is only one true God and the idea is inspired by terry Pratchett's disc-world gods. (Small Gods is a brillent book which you should definatly read) I appoligies if I cause any offense in this, just as I appoligise to any Christians when I play around with their mythology (as I already have and will continue to do.) However I will continue to play with ANY mythology in the cannon. If you have a true problem with this you may need to read another fic, but also you should possibly examin the SPN t.v show too...**

**So sorry about how long that was, but now you have been warned. Any future issues of this nature will be directed here.**

oOoOoOoOo

**Chapter 4**

"It seems only yesterday I used to believe

There was nothing under my skin but light.

If you cut me I could shine.

But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,

I skin my knee, I bleed."

Collins, _On turning Ten_

oOoOoOoOo

There was- _Fire everywhere, choking smoke and heat and No Air. His mother's screams echoing up the stairs towards him. The doorway blocked and the window burning and no way out, only ways to hide from the inevitable._

Then-_Blackness lit up by a thousand tiny sparks. A cold light that rips through him, saturating his flesh in liquid ice. There is nothing human here, no brief-cante of desire and passion, burning out almost as quickly as it comes. This is the texture of eternal life, unbending and unchanging. An infinity of something indomitable. Yet he sees, small and at a great distance; a Duality, in the center of the lake of ice, a chaos that burns hot and fast and mortal._

_It's kind of terrifying but also strangely consoling. Ben gets the impression there has never been anything like this before, nor will there ever be again._

The world goes soft and still and soothing. Waking up isn't like breaking the surface, it's like getting submerged. He can feel all the senses that aren't the usual five shutting down.

He blinks newly opened eyes into a neat, sparse room. Sunlight drifts lazily through a large window, creating dust creatures in the air. He's lying on the starchy cotton of a pre-made bed, the twin of which sits to his left. Under the window, half shadowed by the bright light to his back, a tall man sits in a rickety chair.

Ben swallows and his throat feels moist and pleasant. All of him feels pretty exceptional actually, like every toxin has been washed out of him and he's not sure if he's ever been this healthy. So the problem then, isn't that he physically can't talk, it's just that he's not sure he wants to.

He's in a strange place and he thinks (he _knows_) that his life is never going to be the same.

"Ben." the man says, eyes glowing green-gold with a sympathetic gentleness. Just his name, nothing more, but Ben can hear the mild prompt. He sits up slowly, taking in the previously missed details. The scratched, hardwood floors, the scattered possessions.

"There was a fire." He says, flatly.

"Yes." The man agrees.

"Mum died." Ben continues, in the same even tone. "I could hear her on he stairs. Screaming. Then she stopped."

There is a fine layer of dust over everything, as though the room was abandoned abruptly and left untouched in the intervening years. Even the bed he's on smells musty. Like someone woke up and remade it and then never came back.

He's Repressing. Disassociating himself from the events of the last day. Even now, in a diagnosis he should not be making, because he's too close and not qualified. He hasn't even started his undergrad yet.

Stanford is still almost two months away. His mother had been so excited, almost as excited as Ben himself, who was remaining cool about the whole thing through sheer force of will. The truth of course, was he'd wanted to go to Stanford since Ricky Brigright had got in. Since Dean had given him that first lick of a mysterious history.

Sam had gone to Stanford and when Ben had told him of his own acceptance, Dean had worn a strange face of pride, sorrow and nostalgia. Dean, in all his broken glory, was the reason Ben wanted to study Psychology at all.

That was Before though. There was an Interim too, when Dean wasn't anymore but he'd still worked on Tuesday nights and put the money away for his first semester. This, Ben is rapidly realizing, is After. He does not think there will be college now.

"I know you." He tells the man. _Repress_.

"We meet once, about nine years ago. My name is Sam." The man tells him.

And Ben remembers the changelings and the first glimpse of the dark things out there and Sam Winchester whom he paid not nearly enough attention to.

"You're Dean's brother." Ben says, still in his flat, numb place, though if anything he's too surprised to be angry. Doesn't have reason to be angry, he reminds himself, because Dean's past isn't really his business anymore. "He thinks you're dead."

"Not by my choice." Sam assures him and despite himself Ben feels slightly better, "Did he tell you, what happened to me?"

"He said there was a war." Ben tells him. "He said you ended it."

Sam sighs, "He would tell you that."

oOoOoOoOo

Sam leans on the edge of Bobby's porch, the faded wood almost white in the moonlight. It's late, so late it's almost early but Sam doesn't sleep anymore.

Ben does. Ben sat like a half-dead thing in Bobby's guest room that Sam once shared with his brother. Watched him blank eyed and didn't ask any questions. Didn't blink when Sam told him he was an angel, didn't wonder _Why_.

He will. Sam knows something about shock, knows that Ben can't tell Up from Down right now; can't feel much of anything. It will pass and then there will be tears and rage and _Why_. Sam only hopes he will be able to tell him by then, that he himself will have the answers.

But he _will_ tell him. Everything he knows. He understands why Dean didn't, just like he now understands why John held his tongue for all those years. Winchester men are sometimes incompressible fathers, but they love their children. They love them with every moment of silence.

It does not mean it is right though. Sam cannot imagine, the number of people who might have lived had his father loved him a little less. Sam isn't Ben's father, Ben's father's disappeared and his mother is dead and Sam's been there. Sam will give him the truth, plain, and hope it's enough.

Sam thinks, that Ben probably won't like him so much after that.

It is typical of Dean though, to speak about the triumph, but not the Fall. To tell people that Sam saved the world and not mention that without him it might not have needed saving. It's been over a millennia and Sam's not quite so self-obsessed these days as to think that he alone caused the Apocalypse. Still, he thinks of the million, random choices that were his. The last three years of his life and how every step was paved with good intentions.

But that was a long time ago.

Now, is different. Now his brother is missing and Sam doesn't know where he is. If Cas is aiming to keep Dean off of Sam's radar or if some vital piece of information slipped out of the cracks of his mind in the Cage. That is probably the worst thing; not knowing if he should _already_ know where Dean is.

His hand strays to his throat.

"That thing may be able to help us you know." Gabe's voice whispers to him through the dark.

Sam's fingers tighten around dull gold and worn leather and a thousand year old hurt. Around the perfectly preserved memory of Dean throwing God and the amulet away and Sam trying to pretend that he wasn't being thrown away with them.

"You think?"

"It's one of the Relics." Gabriel tells him. _(A burst of grace and iron/ the weathered bronze of a trumpet/ the terrible splendor of the newly forged cage.)_ "It was made for St John. I don't know it's exact purpose but I know it's meant to help find things."

Sam's mouth twists. It's never glowed or burned in the presence of Chuck, never hinted itself to be anything other than a token of a man Sam can't let go of. But it made it through the pit with him. Even when Sam's mortal flesh was reduced to memory and air, it had hung from an incorporeal neck. A familiar weight. A tiny gold sinker.

"It didn't help Cas last time." He tells Gabriel through _(Dean's hand lingering in an all to long second before he _Lets Go _and there is a soft thump. This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.)_

Gabriel's eyes are sympathetic, "Chuck didn't wear it for twenty years." _(Sam's own face begging/ half blurred through fire/ Grinning over a drink in a dark room.) _"Love like that. It leaves a mark, even when you don't want it to." Gabriel tells him.

"I'm sorry about Chuck." Sam says, because even as his own disappointment and memories of an absent father fall between them, he knows Gabriel's far more lost than he is. At least when John was gone Sam had had Dean. Until his eventual desertion, Gabriel had been caught between two warring brothers, an angry Raphael and a thousand seraphs too young to understand.

Gabriel shoots him a quizzical look. "Why? " he asks, _(Castiel in a garden his face tight/ Michael looking incomputable/ Sam; head bent over the sleeping Ben and passing a note.) _"It's not exactly your fault. Hell, it's almost good parenting at this point. I wouldn't know what to _do_ if he actually stuck around."

Sam thinks suddenly, that maybe Angels fool themselves. Maybe even he is fooling himself, believing that he only experiences the phantoms of emotion. Because it is all here ultimately, in Gabriel's blithe cynicism, in Castiel's aching hope six years ago and Sam's raw loss now. And maybe angels don't change, can't because their forever Still, but that doesn't make them stone.

If angels don't feel then why couldn't Lucifer kneel? Why couldn't Michael let go? Why can't Sam? The questions twist up inside him, like they always have. _Why? Why?_ Sam's _never_ known the answers.

"We're different though." Gabriel tells him, tone washed with the thoughts Sam hadn't even known he'd been sharing. "You, me and Cas. We're the God squad that ain't entirely holy."

He's right of course, because Sam was human and Cas was too for while, they remember. And Gabriel…

Gabriel explained to him once, how pagan gods begin, a mix of hoodoo and belief and sacrifice, how it is people who call them into being and who give them power.

This not how Gabriel was made but he was Loki for a long time and they had worshiped him.

Pagan gods are _born_, and they change the same way belief does. And maybe Gabriel hid too deeply and too well and some parts of that disguise linger with him. Gabriel was never human but he isn't immoveable either.

There is a creak and the back door cracks open, yellow light spilling out to touch Sam's shoulder like a physical gesture. Bobby's face blinks sleepily at them, his hair misplaced and fingers scratching at his beard

"You idjits gonna come in some time?" he asks sourly "Or am I gonna have to hear you yibber-yabbering all night?"

Behind him, Gabriel grins in the darkness "My apologies Mr. Singer" he drawls stepping towards the door "you more than anyone, _need _your beauty sleep."

He grips Sam's arm and pulls him forward and Sam, shaking his head, follows.

oOoOoOoOo

**t.b.c**

**please review? All feedback appreciated.**


	6. Interlude 1

**AN:** here we are, the first interlude (going to be at least one more). Tis' roughly 3000 words and all you're likely to get this week because I have two essays due and another test before Friday. But I make up for it by giving you Dean and Cas. XD

Disclaimer: I do not own, poem extract by Philip Larkin.

oOoOoOoOo

**Interlude 1**

And once you have walked the length of your mind, what

You command is clear …

Anything else must not, for you, be thought

To exist.

Philip Larkin, _Continuing to live._

oOoOoOoOo

_Phoenix, Arizona_

Dean thinks, that _Flower Fields_, is quite possibly the dumbest name for a motel he's ever heard. This is no small statement. Dean's lived in motels most of his life after all.

He also thinks, that it should be harder, slipping back into his old life. That he should notice the lost things more, and morn their passing.

He does of course, but it's the wrong lost things. Out here on the asphalt, surrounded by endless countryside, Sam's absence is an almost physical ache. A raw guttural hole, which cannot be filed by miles or the blaring radio.

But normality had not filled it either. Suburbia had been like Novocain in a way. A necessary period of respite. He hadn't felt the pain but he hadn't felt a hell of a lot else either. …

It hurts out here, hurts a dam lot but it's more like disinfectant. He thinks maybe he might be able to stitch himself up eventually , get to the point where all he has left is scar tissue; giant and red and ugly.

"Dean. The coffee machine is regrettably broken."

And then there is Cas.

Cas who isn't entirely like he used to be, who falls somewhere between Original Cas and Human Cas. Who still won't tell him the dam reason he dragged him off in the middle of the night a month and a half ago, even though he's the Big Boss upstairs now and can do whatever the Hell he likes.

"Dean I have already informed you that I am not God. I also share my rank with three others."

Cas who should _really_ have learned by now to stay the Hell out of Dean's head.

"I apologize." Castiel tells him.

Dean sighs and heads over to the fridge, if coffee's out then he's going to have a beer. It's just been one of those days.

"It's fine Cas." Dean tells his angelic helper, "It would just be nice, if maybe you could be a little more generous with your secrets. Like for instance why we're here, or why we couldn't go after that demon in Colorado last week?"

"As I have already told you Dean; because we are trying to keep a low profile."

"God dam it Cas you know what I mean!" Dean's fairly certain that Castiel is even better at avoiding questions than he used to be. Cas was always pretty good of course, but he's learned a bit of elegance in it now, dancing round the question rather than merely stopping it head on.

It's a very human response. Cas has lost some of the sociability he'd had in those last few weeks but there are things about him that are less angelic than ever.

"Honestly Cas, who have you been hanging out with up there, S -" And Dean stops because he'd been going to say Sam. Because he'd Forgotten for a brief moment there, which happens sometimes when he's with Castiel.

He hates Cas for that, but he kinda loves him for it to.

"I have a gig for us." He pushes on instead, dropping the whole argument. It' s pointless anyway; Cas' lips ain't unzipping any time some. "Three dead, one in a coma. I'm guessing an Angry Casper."

A ghost and before that it was a werewolf and before that it was a warlock. Dean wonders if he still knows how to set up a dinner table for guests. He thinks he's forgotten at least one of the forks.

"Do we have a suspect?" Cas asks him demurely. That isn't Sam talking but it is familiar non the less. Dean wonders if they watch 1930's detective movies in heaven. Cas has been coming out with a few of these lines recently. "For our restless spirit?"

Dean pulls the laptop over and opens up the necessary page. Dean had always been kind of okay with the things, nothing like Sam of course, but he's picked things up across the years from his brother and more recently Ben.

It is strange though, strange to research his own hunts and then tell them to Castiel. He hasn't really done that since his brother's time at Stanford and at 26, Dean hadn't bothered with technology. He'd used tape cassettes in his classic car and archives in the library and when that hadn't been enough, he'd been young and fast enough to get away with it.

It's been a lifetime since then. The impala has an ipod connecter now. (Because Sam stuck it in ages ago and Ben showed him that they kept better condition on rock tracks than tapes.) Newspapers have gone digital. Dean's three years off forty now and his bones hurt a bit and he has to be more careful than he used to be.

"So they're all connected to this one joint- old jazz hall from the twenties. Council's tearing it down, wants to build a Mall. Our Vics? Two planning officers and a builder. Council lackeys." Dean quips clicking from the newspaper clipping from last month to the one from sixty years before. "There's been a couple of deaths over the years." He tells Cas, "But this is the one which struck me "Madam Crawly, bought the place with the money she got after her husband died in the War. Wanted to restore it. Said She and dead hubby had meet there during the depression and it had sentimental importance. Got offed by some drunk squatter in 1957. In the bar."

Castiel nods understandingly "You believe that her spirit has lingered after her violent death and is now angry that the council plans to destroy the building she associates with her lost love." He assesses.

Dean grins "And to think, you've been being all biblical for the last six years. " he teases Cas. "Haven't forgotten a trick."

Castiel _almost_ looks put out. There is a slight indignation, which lingers around the edge of his features and it's kind of hilarious. "I have been 'ground-side' a number of times during our estrangement Dean. And dealt with a variety of 'biblical' issues, some of which involved restless spirits."

Dean blinks, because he'd assumed, but it's different to hear Cas actually say it. "You could have dropped round for a beer." He mutters, before clicking into yet another page. "Anyway." He says louder "Chick's buried in the local cemetery. Straightforward Christian grave. We can swing round after dark and S&B her bones. Be back for breakfast. Easy."

Cas, honest to God, _glares_ at him. "You have angered Murphy." He tells Dean seriously "It will now, almost certainly, be very difficult."

Dean _needs_ to know who Cas has been hanging out with. They've obviously been a Bad Influence. Dean will need to supervise any future visits in order to stop this spread of pessimism.

What kind of Angel knows about Murphy's Law anyway?

oOoOoOoOo

The answer, as it turns out, is a _smart _Angel.

Though how Dean was supposed to know that dear old Lottie Crawly had insisted on a _metal coffin_, he doesn't know. What kind of crazy woman had her coffin made from the melted down remains of ww2 bullets anyway? Her beloved husband was killed by one of those things after all. It's a bit sick in his opinion.

The point is, there has been just enough time between little Lottie's burial and the council's renovation plan for the whole thing to fuse, immovably shut. But not in fact make it any less solid. Consequently Dean is doing the best he can with his iron knife to pry the thing open and Cas is playing tag with a ghost.

_Freaking Murphy!_

He is slightly calmed by the fact that Cas is, undoubtedly winning. Spirit power doesn't nearly measure up to angel mojo, thank god, and Cas is almost causally leading the enraged Charlotte in a merry chase around the cemetery.

There is a scrape of metallic dust under Dean's fingers and his hand slips forward as the knife finally slides between the corner of the lid and the side. Quickly he shimmies the knife sideways, sawing the corroded metal away. Then he pries upwards, using the blade as a pivot and finally, finally the top pops off.

Behind him Castiel goes flying into a tree. Dean wishes he'd been paying more attention because he'd like to have seen how that happened.

No he doesn't need to be more sympathetic, Cas can't actually get hurt after all.

Not anymore at least. Not since he died and God brought him back better than ever. Not since he ran back to heaven and left Dean with nothing but a non-choice and a promise.

Except…that isn't fair exactly, because Dean had loved Lisa and Ben. He hadn't stayed because he told Sam he would and no one presented him an alternative. If he's honest with himself, there wasn't room for Cas in Indiana. Wouldn't have been room for Sam or Bobby either.

No, he doesn't regret leaving, not even when Cas won't tell him why he had to. He doesn't regret leaving but he doesn't regret staying either.

And then Cas makes a kind of grunting sigh as he goes flying again and Dean realizes he still hasn't burnt the bones yet.

oOoOoOoOo

So, Dean lit up Lottie (And wow but he is enjoying this chick's name,) and Castiel only got closely acquainted with two trees in the process. While Cas isn't particularly appreciative of this series of events, Dean's gonna call it a win.

They stop off at the local dinner on the way back to the motel room, because it's getting light and Dean's willing to call it breakfast. He orders bacon and eggs and pancakes, it's been a long night and he's hungry. Castiel doesn't order anything, because it seems even seven years after the Famine Incident, he's not too keen on food.

This had been an important fact for Dean to establish, at the beginnings of their re-acquaintance. Cas doesn't eat because he doesn't _want_ to, not because he _can't_. In fact Dean actually caught him with a chocolate bar three weeks ago, though Cas denies he was going to eat it.

Whatever. Dean remembers how Gabriel was about candy and he honestly wouldn't be surprised if having a sweet tooth was a pan-angel thing. That's just the way his life is.

Their waitress is middle aged and motherly. Dean's not actually that disappointed. He's trained himself not to look, these last six years and even now, the thought of Lisa hangs over his interactions.

Plus Cas always watches the whole exchange of flirtations with his Disapproving Face and it's a bit of a buzz kill. Dean wouldn't have thought it possible but Cas might actually be more of a prude than he used to be.

In some ways at least. In other ways…

"Dean, would you like to sleep for a while before we leave? Or would you care to nap in the car while I drive?"

He's not kidding. Someone, in the time they've been apart; someone brave and stupid and more daring even than Dean; someone quite possibly immortal, has taught Cas how to drive.

And Cas, against all odds, is quite good at it.

Well, good in a little old granny kind of way. A little slow and with extra care around intersections, but definitely trust worthy enough for Dean to let him behind the wheel. Though no as yet, when Dean's eyes have been closed.

The impala is still his baby after all.

But fuck it, Dean's tired, too tired to drive safely and he'd rather not have to pay for another day when he only needs an hour or so. Not when Castiel is so fricking earnest and has yet to even scare him behind the wheel. As good a driver as his brother ever was, even if he isn't as awesome as Dean

He wouldn't have even thought about it with Sam and that's kind of the deciding factor.

oOoOoOoOo

He doesn't sleep well but he does sleep, for abut fifty minutes anyway. And when he wakes up their still alive and not heading for a cliff so Dean may be willing to repeat the exercise at a later date.

Cas is wearing his Concentrating Face, the one he always wears when driving the Impala, which makes Dean a bit more comfortable riding shotgun. Angelic Concentration is slightly more focused than human concentration after all and Dean gets the impression that if they come even anywhere even near danger Cas will just snap them to another time zone. Or you know, Time.

Freaky Angel Time travel. Cas hasn't pulled any so far but Dean gets the feeling it's only a matter of time.

So Cas is driving and the ipod is playing some classical shit. (and Dean doesn't know how because there's nothing non-rock, pre-seventies, post- nineties on there.) Dean grits his teeth and doesn't say anything because Cas told him stony faced the first time round, _that driver picks music and shotgun shuts his pie-hole_ and it's Dean's own rule so he's not really allowed to complain.

Instead, he asks the question that's been bugging him since Cas first sat in the driver's seat, proclaimed he was going to drive and then did it.

"So, where – _why-_ did you learn to do this."

One of Castiel's blue eyes flicks his way before returning to the road in front of him. "Columbia, 2020." He tells Dean matter of factly. "We were on a long term assignment. A stealth mission. It was imperative that we blend in with the locals. So my brother taught me."

Okay, ignoring that apparently there was already an angel that knew how to drive and that Cas is still calling the holy crew 'brothers' even after they all wanted him dead, Dean only has one question here.

"_2020_? As in four years from now?"

Castiel appears confused. "You already know that those of heaven do not follow linier time as you know it Dean."

'Yeah," Dean replies, because boy did he have opinions on freakin' Angel Time travel. "Yeah, I did, but-"

But he'd kinda thought it was more of a big thing. Like Lisa's good china or something, only to be used on special occasions, not for every day.

He frowns, "So if you guys are just flitting through to the future all the time, then how come you didn't already know that the apocalypse didn't happen?" he asks, because he remembers the first 31st of August 2014 he lived, and it was vastly different to the Sunday soccer game of Ben's he'd spent the day on two years ago. As far as he knows, the future is an undecided thing so how the hell do Cas and his buddies get assignments to fix it?

This time Cas looks at him with both eyes and it's a moment before he speaks. Dean gets the impression that he's trying to fit a immense cosmos of knowledge into a headspace that Dean can understand.

"Time is fluid," Cas tells Dean. "Until something has happened, it is merely happening and nothing is happening until it has, in some form happened, yes?"

No, Dean still doesn't get it.

Cas sighs, "It's like a file on a computer." He tells Dean, "you can change it and swap pieces around and scroll from one end to the other, but until it is printed, all variants of the work are stored somewhere."

Dean blinks, because that sort of did make sense in a crazy kind of way. "Is that actually accurate?" he asks.

Castiel signals to the right and changes lanes smoothly. "In terms of the vast and complex methods by which angels journey through time, or the systems by which computer engineering operates?" he queries.

Dean shrugs. "Both?"

"Not in the slightest." Cas tells him with a faint edge of amusement in his voice. "But it was an explanation that you seemed to grasp."

And yeah, even with what he's lost and what isn't the same and what he chose to leave behind. Even knowing that shit is likely to hit the fan soon, because that's just what happens when Cas is around.

Dean can't really regret, at all, that he chose to come.

oOoOoOoOo

-**t.b.c-**

**Please review? Help me through my lonely week of study?**


	7. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long, but I've had a very busy week! Here's chapter five! With Sam, Gabriel and Plot Development! Gasp. Next chapter hopefully in a couple of days.**

**Also I probably going to change this' fic's name. So please be advised that sometime in the next week it will likely become 'I sold my Red Horse (for a Venture Home.)'. It's from a song by Bon Iver called Lump Sum. Iver is also responsible for the title of the second fic in this sequence 'This is my excavation.' **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Poem extract ts eliot . Episode related facts sourced from SuperWiki and supernatural,tv. facts about 5 stages the ever so accurate Wiki.**

**On with the story.**

oOoOoOoOo

**Chapter 5**

I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images, and cling:

The notion of some infinitely gentle

Infinitely suffering thing

ts. eliot, _Preludes_

oOoOoOoOo

Gabriel arrives back at Bobby's to the thunk of concaving metal and smashing glass. He looks to the left and sees the enraged figure of Ben among the scraped cars. His hands are clasped, white knuckled around an old gear stick as he attacks with a raw, unquenchable anger.

Gabriel turns to Sam who is very still, standing forlornly to one side.

He sighs. "Shock's worn off then." He comments blandly.

Sam makes a soft noise, low in his throat and Gabriel _sees (Sam standing just as helpless and desperate. Behind him there is the scream of metal on metal and a horse cry. Sam closes his eyes and keeps walking.) _

Bloodlines, Gabriel thinks, carry a weight and attribute all of their own.

"I asked him, when Dean left." Sam tells him guiltily. "We need to know…how long…" he trails off but Gabriel already understands.

Events are in motion, have been for a while, and they need to get a grip on how long that's been. Castiel's last cannot help them, outside of time as heaven is. They're running by Earth's clock now, by _Hell's_ clock more than likely. "Did he answer?" he asks Sam. "Before…" he gestures towards the incensed teen.

There is a ripple of Lucifer and Michael screaming which Gabriel forces away.

Sam's face contorts. _(The blank screen of a cell phone/ Bobby wheeling himself away/ Castiel standing under a burnt out streetlight.)_ "Mid May." Sam says. "Whatever's going down, Cas thought he needed to intervene a _month and a half_ ago. Who knows how long it would have taken him to get that desperate."

Gabriel grimaces, because it's bad enough news he's bringing anyway, without this on top of it. Sam catches him immediately, in that awkwardly intimate way he has of knowing every flicker if Gabriel's expressions. "What is it?" he asks. (_John Winchester standing in a doorway/ Uriel crouching over him/ Dean's face a bloodless-white as he speaks into a phone_) "What did you find out?"

Gabriel sighs again, because Sam already looks like someone ran over his puppy and the kid is still smashing cars open ten feet away, and Gabriel had almost had his life worked out a week ago. "According to Crowley, there have been a few of these fires, right across the country. He only knew the exact location of one of them though, the first…Lawrence, Kansas; home of one Jenny Cooper." The property falls between; them burnt and wreaked and painfully familiar.

Sam lets out a startled cry, "Jenny who was in our old house?" _(A plump black woman/ a smashed open wall/ Marry Winchester eyes wretched as she whispers an apology.) _"Is she…and Richie and Sari? Are they alright?"

Sam already knows. Gabriel can see the Death reflected between them, but this is a human matter. Tangled up in all the Beforeness. Back when Sam was entrenched in Dean and mortal matters, and Gabriel had tried to think of him as tiny because it was easier. Because it was true.

"We need to examine the wreckage. Who ever is behind this may have left clues." Gabriel says in lieu of an answer. It's unlikely, that they will find anything in Kansas. They found nothing in Indiana after all. Sam had _been_ in Indiana when the attack had taken place and they had found nothing.

"Right." Sam replies (_John Winchester standing in a hospital room/ A blond woman in a tent/ Adam screaming)_ "Right, just give me a moment."

Sam turns towards Ben, who is currently mutilating a rusty Buick's forward bumper. The kid's eyes are red rimmed and streaming and his lips are pulled back from his teeth in a wordless snarl. Gabriel thinks he's probably too far-gone to even be aware of them. Certainly so, for any of the reasonable qualities Gabriel noted during his period of shell-shocked acquiesce.

"Ben." Sam says, firm but not loudly. His hand outstretches in a half plea and as Gabriel sees _(Dean/ the crack of glass/ a burning corpse)_ he realizes that these are as much words for the past as they are now, for Ben. Words Sam wishes he had said, but didn't; or possibly did and was ignored. Either way, here he is, speaking across ten years (Earth time because even Gabriel's not sure how long exactly it's been for Sam) to another amid these cars.

"Ben, you need to stop. This isn't helping you."

To Gabriel's great surprise, Ben does.

He's gasping; quick, little, sob-like breaths and his hands are still wrapped around the gearstick, clenching and unclenching, like he can't quite decide whether to listen or not. He stares at Sam and Sam stares back and they are speaking the silent language of humans. One that Ben is still just learning and Sam only half-remembers and Gabriel never knew at all.

"Ben." Sam says again. Gentler now, as a statement of fact, and his mouth quirks in an aborted smile. "It…it's just stage two, yeah?"

Gabriel doesn't understand this, at all, but judging by the painfully comprehending expression adorning Ben's face, he obviously does. He drops the gearstick, letting it slip from suddenly lose fingers and it clatters to the muddy ground.

"The five stages of grief." Ben mutters, as much to himself as to them. "Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, _Death and Dying_, 1969. Under dispute currently, Yale did a study….But."

He looks up at Sam, terribly vulnerable, with a half-upturned mouth. "I don't think I'll do so well with Bargaining." He says with a shaky laugh, "I mean, you're a fucking _Angel _and you can't help me. May as well skip it. Get straight to Depression, or hell, all the way to Stage Five. Be well adjusted and shit."

Sam smiles as well. A sad, understanding expression. "Might be better if you do stick it out." He tells him "None of the rest of us could and look where we ended up."

Ben does look at Sam, for a long time and then he says, "I'm going to go lie down. I'm…I'm just really tired."

Sam nods agreeably. "Okay."

The kid shuffles off, subdued. Sam turns away from the scene, back to Gabriel, who's no small bit confused. He's seen this interaction a few times, a few variations of it, over the last couple of millennia. It is as foreign now as it has always been. He raises his eyebrow at Sam, who sighs.

"I don't think you're meant to." He says, "It's just…"

"One of your weird human things." Gabriel sneers, jokingly. _(Sam and Castiel's low voices as they huddle together/ Dean flicking the sprinkler switch/ Chuck smiling paternally over his bourbon.) _"I get it."

He doesn't, but then again he's never going to. Sam opens his mouth; apology posed on the edge of his tongue but Gabriel cuts him off. It would take to long to explain, that he's really okay in his ignorance, and he doesn't think Sam would believe him anyway. "We going or what?"

Sam looks hesitant for a moment, a trickle of (_empty motel rooms/ John walking from away/ Dean passed out by a bottle of scotch.)_ And Gabriel sighs, "We can be back before he wakes up." He reminds him, annoyed.

Sam nods and moves over to him "Fucking mother-hen." Gabriel grumbles.

Sam smiles a this, like Gabriel was being nice or whatever, instead of the total dick he works so very hard at being. Together they set off.

oOoOoOoOo

As expected, there is nothing in Kansas.

The house is a mess. The bodies have been removed of course but the rest has been left until the police can finish their investigation. Yesterday it rained The freshness mixes into the stench of the sulfur only they can sense, in some horrible parody of cleanliness. Like room freshener sprayed over blood.

Gabriel leans over and pulls a half-burned photo from under a charred support beam. According to Sam, Sari Cooper had been eleven or so when he'd meet her. The picture here shows her at her high school prom, decked out in lilac silk. He puts the picture back down and turns back towards Sam.

Sam is watching him, the small of his mouth ill turned. Close. Closed.

There is a shadow there, the same shadow that lingered in the hushed story Sam had recounted to Bobby two days ago.

There are things within Sam, which Gabriel may have no part. Things, which belong to Dean and Castiel and the memory of human things. Gabriel is okay with this. Accepts this.

But there are also the other parts, the lost parts. Sometimes Gabriel can almost taste their absence. Catches the brief flashes of Lucifer and Michael about Sam's edges and knows that for their presence, some part of Sam must be gone.

Gabriel is a non-complicated creature and an inherently selfish one at that. He likes Sam's place in his life and thus he cannot regret these loses, not when they are the truth behind Sam's Grace, however horrific it may be.

But sometimes, sometimes when Sam has that shadow, that…. Close. Closed. He wonders, about Adam and his endless Nothing. If he is not better off than Sam, always but a hairsbreadth away from being shaken apart by his own dissenting fragments. Little crunches of Human and Grace and Taint jumbled together and never able to be at peace in one another.

Sam is still burning, even away from the Pit, burning every second but it is only occasionally that Gabriel sees it. Only occasionally that Gabriel doesn't regret, but almost wishes he could.

He swallows. Looks away. Remembers how many times this house has been destroyed and rebuilt. Remembers warm beer and Sam grinning.

"Come on." He tells Sam. "Lets get back before your boy wakes up."

oOoOoOoOo

Ben is not awake when they return but Singer is waiting for them. He glares when they enter, hand clenched around a whiskey.

"Boy." He says to Sam. "I get that something big is going down and that you don't entirely know what it is. At least I hope that's how it is and you ain't so foolhardy as to be keeping your gob-shut when I should know things."

"Bobby-" Sam interrupts, but Singer glares at him and he shuts up again.

"I ain't finished. I don't mind ya using this as a base, cause god knows the last thing that kid upstairs needs is some motel room, but god-dam it you've been back two days and I already got bloody demons turning up on my doorstep and that ain't right Sam."

Sam frowns in utter confusion but Gabriel gets an uncomfortably knowing feeling. "Crowley showed up here didn't he?" He asks Singer.

Singer's glare shifts from Sam to Gabriel in a flash and he snorts. "_You_ then. Might have known. Yeah, he was here, talking away in his slick way. As if taking my soul the once wasn't enough."

Sam opens his mouth ad Gabriel can almost already hear the sorry. He nudges him sharply and asks Singer, "Did he say why he came?"

Singer glares at him even harder, but jerks his head towards the table. "Left you a list of the fire locations." He growls, "Ain't nothing connecting 'em as far as I can tell."

Gabriel picks up the list. It is neatly computer-typed and so very Crowley; who fancies himself as an upstanding businessman, rather than literally the demon who inspired Faust.

There are seven fires in total. None of the victims live in the same state or share similar names. There is no consistency in age or sex or anything as far as Gabriel can see. They seem utterly unrelated.

Sam, peering over a shoulder, lets out a choked sound and when Singer and Gabriel look at him he is ghastly pale. "I know. Fuck, I know _all _of those people." He whispers.

"You're the link?" Bobby asks sharply but Sam shakes his head quickly, face still horrified. "No I… Not _me_." He says "Dean. They're all connected to _Dean_."

oOoOoOoOo

**t.b.c**

**Please review? Pretty Please?**

oOoOoOoOo

oOoOoOoOo

**Cookie for Nephtys Rayesh. Parody. Utterly unrelated to rest of story. No offense to anyone is meant. Enjoy, SSACCFS. XD**

oOoOoOoOo

It has been two hundred days, five hours and thirty-two minutes since Raphael was imprisoned by Michael's Vessel and the traitor Castiel.

So far he has recounted to himself the old and new testaments a dozen times, Milton's _Paradise Lost_ six times, mentally examined every sacred renaissance painting he has ever seen and sang through the entirety of _Jesus Christ, Super Star._

He's furious and unbelievably boarded and a little suspicious as to if there's perhaps some truth behind the Mary Magdalen thing after all.

At this point, he has to assume that Castiel has triumphed, because otherwise by now Michael would have saved him, or Lucifer destroyed him, but either way he would be free of this bloody ring.

Which he's not.

"RafRaf!"

It's been two-hundred days, five hours and thirty-three minutes since Raphael was imprisoned, and it's been three millennia since he heard that voice and that name, but Raphael still closes his eyes in cold, younger sibling dread.

When opens them again, it is to the entirely inappropriate grin on Gabriel's unwelcome face. "Oh Raphy look at you."

"Brother." Raphael answers with as much dignity and gravity as he can. "It has been a long time."

"Yeah." Gabriel sighs in a nostalgic manner, still grinning. "Since that last party at Christ's. Hey Raph-" He asks, "Do you remember that thing with the wine-"

"Gabe," A new voice interrupts "Everyone remembers the wine trick. It's in the _B__ible_."

Raphael swings around to this new intruder and is suddenly face to face with Samuel Winchester, the child tainted with the blood of demons and the vessel of Lucifer.

"Gabriel!" Raphael hisses, "What is the meaning of this! Why are you here with, with this _vermin_!"

Gabriel frowns "Now Raphy, that's just rude. There's no need for name calling." He says as if he didn't call him RafRaf a minute ago. "And also entirely inaccurate. You can't tell right now, cause the fires messing with your mojo, but Sam's got some spiffy now. He's like, part of the Crew."

For all his joking, Raphael can see the honesty in Gabriel's eyes and he snarls a denial. "Impossible."

"Yeah." Gabriel sighs in mock sorrow "You missed a lot. But hey." He brightens "the apocalypse is over. It looked bad for a while. But then Team Free Will- which FYI, I was on, so YAY me! - Killed off the last of the horsemen and got the keys for Lucy's cage. Course, they only had to do that cause I was dead by then, which really sucked. And Sam dragged Micky and Lucy back into the Cage, which also sucked for Sam. But Dad was really cool about the whole thing. Said we did well and totally bailed us out. Gave Sam his Spiffy and Cas got an awesome promotion!"

Gabriel claps his hands, "Yeah, it's all going great! But then I asked about you and well,"

Gabriel grins again, pure cruelty and amusement intermingling. "Cas was really embarrassed of course. But what with one thing and another he'd just forgotten _all _about you. Dad was a bit annoyed. Said we had to let you out."

Raphael rushes the edge of the circle, his fury momentarily overriding his sense "Your lying." He growls, "Our father is gone. God is DEAD!"

"Actually." Samuel interrupts, speaking up for the first time in a while "He's in Minnesota. Prefers to be called Chuck now though. Can't think why."

Raphael screams..

Gabriel edges over to Sam. "He's like…seriously _pissed_."

Sam nods, looking slightly worries "Yeah, we should let him calm down. Get to grips with the situation." He agrees.

Gabriel smiles "Totally." He says turning back to the still screaming Raphael. "Raphy, me and Sam are gonna go. You, need to: Calm The Fuck Down. Now, we'll back in a couple of years. Try to be ready to act like a big person by then, M'kay?" he turns to Sam, not even waiting for an answer "Lets roll."

Raphael keeps yelling for a good twenty minutes after they leave. Then he sits down and takes a deep, soothing breath.

From the outside, the warehouse is almost silent, only a half-muffled warble breaking the tranquility.

_"Jesus Christ! Super Star! Do you think you are what they say you are!"_

**-fin-**

**Ahem. Yeah. **

**Jesus Christ Superstar lyrics not mine. Not really much else to say about that…  
**


	8. Chapter 6

a/n: Hey, sorry it's taken so long for an update, but at just shy of 4000 words I don't feel too bad. Tags to the episodes 'Route 666', 'Monster Movie', 'the End' and in particular 'Something Wicked'. Also we're about 1-2 chapters out from the big reunion now.

**Warnings: language and swear words used in this chapter as well as (extremely) light sexual content (like one sentence and not involving any main characters.)**

Disclaimers: I own nothing. Poem extract Charles Tomlinson. Episode facts from Supernatural Wiki and . Information about summer school from the collage (to be told next chapter) website.

Onward.

oOoOoOoOoOo

**Chapter six**

_They were giants then_

_(as you may see)_

_and we_

_are not the shadows of such men._

Charles Tomlinson, _Ute Mountain._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Today is Friday. It's been four days since Crowley left them the list.

Tuesday was spent in Missouri. The humidity washed out the rawness, that first day, but Sam still felt the ache, low in his gut as he climbed over the ruins of Cassie's house. There was a battered old truck in the driveway. Not the same truck, but similar. Gabriel caught him looking and laid a hand on his arm. They returned to Bobby's by lunchtime.

Wednesday brought rain and New York. Sam never met Resa. Doesn't even know if Dean knew her last name was Alvarez and that she'd lived in a third story apartment just outside of Queens. The whole building had been closed off and Sam and Gabriel had stalked the hallways fruitlessly. Sam remembered; last time she died in 2014. He shouldn't feel better about that. Not for two measly years.

Thursday they had to sneak out early because Ben's been getting restless, wants in on this. Sam wonders if this how John felt, constantly caught been pragmatism and the desperation to keep them away from it all. The rain from New York has moved south over Pennsylvania during the night. Sam knew then, as he sifted through the ruins of Jamie's house, that he'll no more be able to keep Ben from this than his father was able to.

Bloodlines, Gabriel would call it. There's probably some truth to that.

And today is Friday. Gabriel has gone to seek out Crowley again so Sam is alone this time. It's sunny in South Dakota, or it will be, once the sun actually rises. Right now it's only five thirty though. Ben began staking-out the break in the wards at four.

Sam curses in his own head. Of all the names on that list, this is the last one he wants Ben to make his stand on. He's done the calculations in his head. There are too many similarities here for it not to end badly.

Ben is standing cross-armed and with his chin stuck out in a petulant manner, but when he speaks it's in a calm, mature fashion. He wants to be taken seriously on this, Sam can tell. He did the same thing to John when he was Seventeen.

"I understand your only trying to protect me." Ben tells Sam. "My mother's just died and I'm a little all over the place emotionally right now. Your personalizing the situation in particular, because Dean's your brother and you think of me as his kid."

His voice turns harder. "But Dean's not my dad, not really. Dean left and whatever the reason was, it doesn't actually matter that much. My mother stilled died and I have a right to know why. I have a right to help avenge her. So if you're going after this thing, you have to take me with you."

Sam can see how this will end with a frightening clarity. Maybe it was stupid to hope he could spare Ben this. His mother couldn't save him. He couldn't even save himself.

"You don't know what you're asking for." He tells Ben, because he has to try. Because Ben could tell him the origins of the five stages of grief, the book and year, and Sam knows how it feels to lose that kind of passion. "You're still young, you have your whole future ahead of you. Collage. Ben this life, it _eats _you. You won't survive it. No one does. Dean went to hell for forty years. I'm not even human anymore. Please, what would your mother want?"

Ben shuts his eyes, but Sam can still see the struggle there; see the moment that Ben lets go of the before things, and hurts for it. Ben opens his eyes again and he is resolved. "I'm not a child and this is my choice. Are you going to respect it?" he asks.

Sam doesn't answer just places two fingers to Ben's forehead and leaves.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Wisconsin is sunny too, or at least it too will be. They haven't traveled far enough to have changed time zones, but the dawn is slightly closer here. Sam removes his fingers from Ben's forehead and the boy looks around. "Where are we?" he asks.

Sam begins to walk in the direction of their destination; he could not land directly on the site. To do so would remove any demonic taint he is hoping to discover. "We're in Fitchburg, Wisconsin." He tells Ben, who is following him. "There is a motel here that Dean and I stayed in many years ago. Three weeks ago it suffered a terrible fire."

Ben stiffens at his side. "You mean like my house."

"There have been seven fires." Sam tells him bluntly "Yours was the last. This was the fifth. I'm hoping that the ones responsible for this will have left some evidence at one of the locations that they did not at yours. I have had no luck with the first four. I have this and one other left to search."

Ben is not an idiot. "What's the connecting factor between these places?" He asks, "Is it you? Is it Dean?"

"All of the people attacked have held significance in Dean's life." Sam tells him, because at the beginning of all this he had promised himself he would tell the kid everything he knew, however painful. "But I do not yet know why they have been singled out. It is possible that Dean does not know of these attacks yet. It is also possible that he left you and Lisa in the hopes of protecting you."

To his credit, Ben doesn't dispute this possibility or comment on its inefficiency, which is more than Sam would have been able to do once. His jaw tightens though, eyes flicking just a shade or two darker. It is an expression so like Dean's that it takes Sam's breath away. He wonders, how anyone, how _they,_ could not see it.

The drive slopes down slightly and at the bottom is the ruined husk of what was once, a rather inviting motel. The police tape still closes off the area to the general public, but it is obvious that they have not been here in several days. Leaves and other natural waste have begun to fall onto the site and three sodden newspapers attest to the lack of human interlopers.

Ben slows down as they approach, his shoulders tensing up as he glazes down at the familiar scene. Sam knows he can't sense everything that is there; the sulfur and the brimstone and the after tang of human terror. Still, the smell of ash and charred wood and smoke are heavy and it cannot be easy being here.

Sam lays a hand over his bony shoulder, feels the flutter of a racing heart, and moves forward into the center of the wreckage. He closes off his human senses and reaches out with _**thought/touch/taste**_, feeling his way among the small insects, which are prevalent here, and heat from the sunlight pressing against the chill of the shade.

He sifts through the visceral shadows of the onces and the nevers; all the leftovers that human lives leave everywhere. He is trying to find something foreign. Something that feels wrong and out of place and dirty.

It is after _–ten dusty years in the dining-room drawer/ 3 minutes as nameless strangers fuck in room four-_ that he finds it. A lick of a decayed soul; honey, sin and blood, which marks the unmistakable presence of a demon. Sam jumps on it chasing the taint between the smack of flesh meeting flesh and the ringing of a little girl's laugh. This is where they have lost the trail the last three times, before the when and the how and the _why_. Sam wants to see this demon, in all its horrific glory, wants to know the twist of it well enough to locate it across a city. They are cornered now; 54 seconds before the fire and a thousand angles of the living room and Sam presses down onto the-

"HEY! I SAID, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

Sam is wrenched back into the confines of the _Now_, as his body is dragged around by it's shoulder. The dragger is a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, his attractive face drawn back into a snarl. He glares up at Sam, who is still too displaced to understand much of what's going on. "Are you fucking listening?" the man growls, "What are you doing?"

Sam draws back and blinks at the worn denim jacket, toffee-colored hair and angry, brown eyes. "I am working." Sam tells him, a small touch of grace infusing his tone. "You must leave."

Sam is surprised by the whammy's lack of affect on the stranger, whose anger is over shadowed momentarily by incredulity. Sam supposes that the statement, sans compulsion, would seem slightly audacious.

"_Working? Leave_?" the man asks in disbelief "buddy you ain't no freaking Cop and this is _my_ home, or it _was_, so you'd better tell me what the hell your deal is!"

Sam casts fresh, examining eyes over the face before him and now that he knows what he's looking for, he can see the familiar line of the jaw and pinch of doubt in the eye. This is not the first time Sam has explained the unexplainable to this man.

"You're Michael." Sam says, a little shocked. "You…I thought you perished in the fire."

The man releases his shoulder as he too pulls back, his eyes wide "Who…how the Hell do you know me?" He demands, "Who ARE you?"

"My name is Sam Winchester." He says, it's not strictly correct anymore, but he finds the lie slips as easily from his tongue as it did when it was the truth. "Ten years ago your little brother became very ill because of a creature known as a shtriga. You helped my brother and I kill the creature and save him. Did your brother die in the fire Michael?" Sam asks.

"No!" Michael exclaims. "No, Asher's at collage! Sam…fuck, I remember you. You and Dean. You…I _never_ forgot what you showed me."

"I'm sorry." Sam tells him, but it's for a lot of reasons. Because they told Michael the truth and maybe if they hadn't, if Dean hadn't liked him so much, this wouldn't have happened to him.

Sam has to give credit to whatever is behind this; they know just where to strike. In the overlapping mess of scar tissue and calluses that is his brother's soul, there is a small patch of unblemished skin. It is the place of those Dean has saved; never regretted or mourned or doubted in importance for a moment. In many ways, for many years, they were all Dean had had; the knowledge that these people had lived, and continued to lead normal lives, unmolested by the darkness.

Sam believes in unspoken but ironclad way, that Dean cannot know about these attacks yet. There is no way that he would not have come, to everyone of these places Sam's searched. There is no way he would have allowed this desecration of his life's work continue unhindered.

"Michael," he asks because he can feel it here, all around him, the absence of life. "Someone died here. If it wasn't you or Asher, who was it?"

Michael sucks in a breath, like Sam has physically struck him. "My Mom." He whispers "A couple of the guests and… and her. I was supposed to be home… Taking the night shift… but Wendy Ashcroft was at the bar and I was late."

Michael doesn't look the way he did ten years ago when they told him about monsters, his expression is far closer to the one he had at Asher's bedside. Just because none of the adults will tell them, doesn't mean children don't know when someone is dying.

They'd save Asher last time. Michael's mother had not been so lucky.

"I got back." Michael tells him in a low voice, "And it was just… all burning. The fire department was there but, they were…one of them said they'd never even _seen _fire that quick. It just…destroyed everything."

Behind them there is soft noise, and Sam turns to the previously forgotten Ben, who is standing staring at Michael in a shell-shocked fashion. Sam remembers, finding out that there were other children like him; who saw thing and could do things and whose mother's blood had baptized them as infants. There was nothing evil in Ben and Michael, not like there had been Sam and Azreal's other chosen, but he figures that the same blend of comfort and dislike would apply. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to either of them, it would be hard to learn that they were not unique.

"Ben," Sam asks, "Are you alright?"

Ben looks up at him, expression suddenly furious. "Were they all like this? Women and their sons getting deep-fried because they just happened to know him?"

Sam hears; _were we just the latest in long line?_

Michael says, "All? All what? Has this happened _before_? Is it something supernatural, is that why your here?"

Sam's caught between them, doesn't know who to respond to first. Michael's looking almost as pissed off as Ben now, like his misfortune is their fault, which it sort of is, but Michael doesn't know that.

Sam wishes Dean was here. He's been wishing that for days, since this whole mess began, but right now the raw _want_ of it is consuming. Dean would know what to do. Dean who's Ben actual father and who bonded with Michael years ago. Sam's okay with kids, has actually gotten better since his ascension, but it's in a completely inhuman way. He cannot be an angel with these two, they are far too personal, connected to the past as they are and Sam's at a loss.

They both look at him, angry and hurt and expectant and Sam sighs. "yes ther have been others," He tells Michael. "We believe they are the work of demons, though we do not know to what end yet. They have been targeting people associated with my brother, particularly those he has saved from the supernatural."

"Ben," he continues, turning his attention to the teen "the other fires have been short-term acquaintances of Dean's with the exception of you, an old friend of our father's, and a woman Dean never actually meet but was connected to. Yours and Michael's were the only two where families were targeted."

In Michael's case it's unlikely that his mother or brother were even targets particularly. But Sam isn't going to tell them that; he figures the kid has enough to deal with right now.

Ben's anger drops away like a weary thing, but Michael looks even more enraged, clenching white knuckled fists at his sides.

"It was _you_?" he demands, "You're the reason this happened? The reason that my mother died, was because some monster had a grudge with _you_?"

"This happened," Sam says, because it is important that he make Michael understand this, just as he will have to Dean, when they find him. "Because demons are perverted, tortured souls who want nothing more than to hurt and destroy and to rip the world apart. This happened, because six years ago Dean and me and a few others stopped them from succeeding in that very act. They want to make us and everyone around us, bleed for that. I'm sorry about your mother Michael, I _am_, just like I'm sorry about yours Ben, but this isn't Dean's fault. This is the work of the demons, and only they should be held accountable for it."

Michael doesn't say anything. Sam can see him turning it all over in his head. He turns to Ben who is still standing just off to the side of them. He looks small and unsure. Sam takes his arm and moves away slightly.

"Ben," He says gently. This hasn't been a pleasant conversation for any of them. "I need to finish searching. I was close to something, I think. Can you look after Michael for me?"

Ben looks more hesitant than ever. Michael is older than him after all. Taller and harsher around his edges. For all Ben wishes to hunt and find his mother's killer, he is not naturally a violent soul. It is something he may acquire over time, learn like Sam had to learn once, but it is not something already in him.

There is violence in Michael. That Sam can already tell. It is not necessarily a _bad_ thing. There is violence in Dean too, and Gabriel and even Castiel. Sam also knows that Michael will not hurt Ben, whatever the younger boy's fear. Ben is a year or so younger than Asher by Sam's reckoning. Has some similarities in his coloring to the child Sam remembers. Ben will be fine.

"He's a civilian." Is what Sam tells Ben, because it would not be productive to call him out on his fear. "Hunters protect them. You wanted to be a hunter, right?"

It's blackmail and Sam knows it, but he needs them both quiet and occupied with one another so that he can finish here. Ben gives him a small nod and starts off back in the direction of Michael.

Sam watches them for a moment. Sees Ben lay a hand on the other's arm and say something in a low tone. Michael looks up at him, taking in the honesty in Ben's features and seems to agree half-heartedly. They move off up the driveway.

Sam walks back to the charred rubble. He closes his eyes and starts all over again.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sam finds them in the local dinner three hours later.

As he predicted it's sunny and _'Mamma Joe's_' is bright and airy. They are both sporting coffee when he walks in, laughing softly over something Sam didn't hear. Sam halts in his approach for a moment. For all the earlier situation was everything (and worse) that Sam had predicted when he'd let Ben come, this is the happiest Sam's ever seen the kid.

They both look up as Sam comes over, Ben biting his bottom lip slightly and even Michael looking nervous.

"Did you find anything?" Ben asks as Sam sits down next to him.

And isn't that the million dollar question. For the last three hours Sam has hovered on the edge of a scent but every time he got close to touching it, something would roll over him; sex or the screech of tires or a ripple of blood. Something intense and brutal and momentarily consuming, so that when he freed himself, the trail was lost once more.

It is completely unnatural and unlike any demonic ploy he's ever seen and Sam is extremely troubled by it. He fully intends to tell Gabriel the second they return to Bobby's but he doesn't half wonder if his friend has not already touched upon it a one of the previous sites. Gabriel's sense is far more finely tuned than his own after all, and it would certainly explain why Gabriel had left to lean on his darker contacts last night.

"There was a shadow." He tells Ben and by proxy Michael. "However something was blocking me and I couldn't get much from it."

Michael snorts softly, but Ben looks more worried than ever "But you're an _angel_." He whispers, "what could possibly stop you?"

Sam grimaces. "Not a whole lot of things." He says, "and none of them good news. We've done all we can here. We need to get back to Bobby's. Perhaps Gabriel has learnt something about our adversary or the location of Castiel and Dean. It was nice to see you again Michael, though I'm very sorry about the circumstances. We'll let you know when we have anything new. Come on Ben."

Sam gets up and Ben follows unhappily, glancing back several times. Sam knows that he doesn't want to leave just yet; wants to stay longer with Michael, who seems like the only person in the world who understands him right now. Sam almost wishes he _could_ leave him here for a bit, but it's just not possible. The creatures behind this have to know of both boys survival by now and while Michael will probably be safe, Ben, as Dean's son and blood, is in as much danger as ever.

They are halfway down the street and almost free enough of passers-by for Sam to zap them, when Michael catches up with them. He is panting, as if he has sprinted after them all the way from the dinner. As if he sat long minutes pondering this and only just came to the decision.

"WINCHESTER!" Michael yells, as he rapidly approaches. "Hey, WINCHESTER!"

Sam turns and regards him as he leans heavily on his thighs. "Yes?" he asks, curiously.

"I'm-" Michael gasps "I'm coming with you! This thing- it killed my mom too- and I- I want to help."

Ben bites his lip again when Sam says nothing. "But- your whole life is here. You can't just walk out on it Mike."

Sam does not miss the endearment.

"Why not?" Michael demands angrily. "_You _did and you're much younger than me! Anyway there's not a hell of a lot left for me here. I worked and lived in that motel. _Mum's gone_! Asher came down for the funeral but he flew back to Baltimore last week because he's halfway through summer school. He's living in student dorms, so no room for me there. I'm staying in the bar backroom at the moment, because Alice was good friends with mom, but it's hardly permanent."

He pauses and takes a deep breath before looking back at Sam. "These things in the dark," he starts, "They keep coming for us. Last time I was just a kid and Asher was fine in the end so I let it go, convinced myself that there were people like you and Dean out there to save people." He blinks and there is a slight break in his voice. "But there was no one there to save Mom. She died and it's okay for Asher because he doesn't know, he's _never_ known about any of this stuff and he's saving people in his own way. But I- I _do_ know. And I _can't_ just live in Alice backroom and help in the bar while I do. I _can't_ just do nothing anymore."

Sam stares at him and wonders how on earth he ended up in this situation. Only hours ago he'd been trying to convince Ben that hunting wasn't a good option. Now not only is Ben involved, but he has another boy, no more than twenty-two by his count, insistent on joining them. Sam wants to say no, say the situation is different where Ben is concerned, but he can't. Not without revealing things that Lisa died without saying and Dean doesn't even know yet. Besides Michael has a point.

Sam recalls Stanford; the way the lies felt so safe when he had been there and how devastating it was when the darkness came back. Michael's not predestined for this world the way Sam was but the fact is he's been attacked _twice_ now and for most hunters it only takes once.

He sighs as he looks into Michael's determined face.

Bobby, Sam thinks, is going to _kill _him.

**-t.b.c-**

**review, please? **

**Do we approve of Michael? Yes? No? Maybe?**


	9. Chapter 7

**A/n: Hey, tis another chapter. I'm halfway through the second interlude (which comes next) too. *****Is productive*****. Starting now though the Big Revelations (even if we go nowhere but Bobby's porch this chapter.) are Go, across the next three chapters.**

**Also there is, a kind of ****slash**** in the chapter. Only not really because they are Metaphysical beings and it's all very abstract. My sister didn't understand what was happening, but that's okay because Sam doesn't either.**

**Oh and I am warning here, that I am taking Liberties with SPN vessels. Fairly little is known about them and it was never satisfactorily explained why Sam was Lucy's only but Michael could get it on with any of the Winchesters. No sense is made there as far as I'm concerned, and **_**technically**_** this interpretation isn't against Cannon. So. You have been warned.**

**Disclaimer: Do not own. Episode facts Supernatural Wiki and supernatural,tv. Poem extract Philip Larkin.**

**Chapter 7**

_And immediately_

_Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:_

_The sun-comprehending glass,_

_And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows_

_Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless._

Philip Larkin, _High Windows._

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sam sits on Bobby's moonlit porch, his hands tracing patterns into the weathered wood, circling rusting nails and catching on the cracks in the grain. He is tired, not the bone aching tiredness of man, but the dull tarnish of weary grace. It is not something that happenes often to angels, but Sam is not too surprise given the events of the day.

Ben and Michael are asleep in the guest room, Michael having crawled into Dean's old bed like it had been waiting for him since Sam's brother left six years ago. Ben drifted off still clutching a tomb of demon lore in one hand and the parables had been too much for Sam.

He knows; that Ben and Michael are different; that they barely know each other, are just two children thrown together by grief and rage and circumstance. Knows they are nothing like him and Dean really.

But he doesn't need it, the stark reminder of what he's lost and what he can never have again. Not even if he finds Dean and Cas and sorts out this mess. Sam doesn't sleep, doesn't dream, his body heals itself from fatal wounds and even his emotions are questionable in they're authenticity.

He isn't Sam Winchester, not like he'd told Michael he was. Sam Winchester died a long time ago now and what is left is Samuel; Angel of the Lord, the Angel of Mercy. A creature that remembers Sam's life, feeling the things he felt, that is all.

He lies back and the amulet thumps against his chest as he moves. Sam closes his eyes. Losing Dean, wasn't because he is an angel now. Losing Dean had happened a long time before that.

It doesn't help that Bobby isn't talking to him. He'd been waiting for them upon their return, no doubt with completely justified anger at Sam's inclusion of Ben in affairs when for years he'd raged against John for that very crime. He'd taken one look from Ben to Michael to the duffle bag over Michael's shoulder and sworn loudly. Sam had ushered the boys upstairs, even as he remembered clearly, how the yelling could be heard from the guest room.

The argument had been ugly too. Bobby had always firmly believed that this wasn't a world for the young and the inexperienced. He'd accused Sam of copying his father. Sam hadn't been so insulting as to point out that at seventeen and twenty-two the boys were far older than he and Dean had been. That they had the right to decide for themselves. He _had_ said, that with demons chasing them and revenge on their minds, he'd rather the boys learnt how to fight from him and Bobby, than to try and figure it out for themselves.

It had ended with Bobby, still furious, disappearing into his office to finish research on a slew of murders two counties over. Sam had wisely steered clear of him the rest of the day.

"I think you have an infestation. The midgets a multiplying." Rings out an amused voice from above. Sam glares up at Gabriel, who is looming over him. "I swear I'm gonna get you a bell." He tells him annoyed, "You and Castiel both, only his is going to have a tag on it as well. 'If found please call this number…"

Gabriel grins. _(Dean in shaded glasses at night/ Sam leaning over a small cake stand/ Michael surround by lush jungle and completely soaked)_ "Well somebody's snarky this evening. I take it Bobby didn't take to kindly to the mitosis either?"

Sam groans. _(Robert Singer welding a rifle and John heading for the impala at a rather quicker pace than usual.)_ "well he hasn't threatened me with the shotgun yet, so here's hoping he won't actually kill me."

Gabriel sits down beside him, his fathomless wings brushing lightly against Sam's side, "You do know your immortal right?" he asks.

Sam squints at the other as Gabriel's wings get caught momentarily in his own and cause an intense ripple of sensory displacement to overwhelm him.

"You think that would stop Bobby?" he asks, shivering on a physical level as it happens again "Stop that." He tells Gabriel.

Gabe pulls his wings in with a huff. "How'd it go today?" he asks softly.

_(Nick's smile as he quotes 'the devil went down to Georgia'/ Ruby scraping a knife across his arm/ Castiel staring at him wide-eyed in June 2010) _"I think you know how it went." Sam tells Gabriel. "I also think your stalling. What bad news did they have this time? And don't fob me off that it wasn't bad either. If it was good you'd be boasting already and if it was routine you wouldn't be trying to distract me."

Gabriel sighs. _(Lucifer's face as he gazes on Eve/ Michael's hands on the cage/ Sam standing in the middle of the Elysen Fields Hotel_) "It's…Fuck Sammy, it's even bigger than we thought. It's like the apocalypse mark. 2."

Sam sits up and grips his arm _(Castiel opening the panic room/ Lucifer rising/ The slam as the Cage shuddered shut)_ "Something was blocking me today, I couldn't pinpoint who the demons that started the fire were. I know you've already sensed it. It's why you ran off last night, you felt it at Jamie's. Have you and Crowley figured out who it is? What are we up against?"

Sam chokes slightly as the phantom of Lucifer's sword sliding through Gabriel's chest assaults him. Gabriel is looking away, anywhere but at Sam and the combination is sort of terrifying.

"I knew, in New York I _knew_, but I couldn't face the idea that- then there was the same thing in Pennsylvania so I went to Crowley. I wanted there to be something, _anything_ else. But there's nothing else Sam. Nothing else can hide a demon's mark from us."

"Gabe what is it?" Sam demands over the roar of Falling, Adam and Michael and Lucifer catching him up and dragging him down. "What's helping the demons?"

_(blood and grace mingling/ a flutter of wings/ the sound a soul makes went it's burnt away.)_ Sam knows before Gabriel even tells him.

"It's an angel Sam. Someone from the Garrison has allied themselves with fucking demons."

Sam closes his eyes. It's so obvious of course. What else can block the power of God? What else can block angelic grace but angelic grace?

There has been war brewing in Heaven for a long time now. The Hierarchy has not been challenged since God cast Lucifer down, never even been questioned. The rise of Castiel is an affront enough; but the existence of Sam, such as he is, seems to many, to be unforgivable. With Chuck's refusal to return still, they have nothing to offer in justification but their word.

For some this, backed by their otherwise unexplainable power, has been enough to believe in their father's return. But for others, their respite, their Paradise had been _so close_ and they are blinded by its loss. Michael had promised them much, more than Castiel, Sam and Gabriel can, and they will stop shot of nothing to get him back.

But Sam never thought they would go this far. Working with Hell's sporn, it's an abomination, the worst crime imaginable. There has only ever been one not among the Fallen to do such a thing; Uriel seven years ago. Not even during the War, when they plotted for the same outcome and the rise of Lucifer, did the Garrison work with demons.

It also means that they now know the inevitable end game even if Sam doesn't see how targeting Dean fits into it. "They're trying to open the Cage again aren't they?" He asks. "They're trying to get Lucifer and Michael out so they can finish the War."

Gabriel nods unnecessarily and Sam takes a deep breath, trying not to panic. "It's mad!" he says through the flicker of _(Lucifer playing Jess in his dreams/ Adam screaming in the dark/ Dean dead in a motel car park.)_ "How can they…assuming they even have a way to get the thing _open_ with Lilith gone, what are they going to use as vessels? Adam's gone, and what with the 'being an angel too' thing, I'm not exactly viable anymore! How do they think they're even going to fight?"

Gabriel sighs. "First of all, you know as well as I do there's an easy two-step way of opening that cage; four rings and a nursery rhyme and you're set. As for vessels; Dean's still Michael's one, true and only and he's just as feasible now as ever. Not to mention the fact he's procreated."

Sam swallows at the idea of Michael possessing Ben.

"Lucy?" Gabriel continues harshly, "He's not that different from Michael, You're Number One on the list, but ultimately he needs your bloodline, not you specifically. It's just, he needs it juiced up a bit as well."

Sam grits his teeth, angry with Gabriel, though he doesn't know why. "Well then who? Unlike Dean I haven't had any kids." _(Ruby smiles maternally down at him while he sucks greedily at the slit on her arm.) _"and I don't know anyone who's been quaffing back demon blood recently!"

Gabriel looks at him like he's being deliberately obtuse. "You don't need to have." he growls, "As you so cleverly pointed out, that kid sleeping upstairs is _your nephew_! It would only take three or four years of dosing him with blood, or shit, a _month_ or two downstairs, and he can be almost as jumped up and around the bend as you were at the end. It won't be perfect and it'll take a while but Lucifer's waited the whole of fucking _creation_ for this and he's definitely willing to compromise!"

Sam shakes his head in frantic denial at the possibility, so much worse somehow than the idea of Michael coming after Ben. "No! That's not…they tried to _kill_ Ben! Why would they do that if they intended to…you're _wrong_, dam it Gabriel!"

_(Lucifer grinning over a bright red apple/ Sam holding him against a wire fence/ Raphael glaring at Castiel) _"Your essence was all over those wards, Sam." Gabriel roars, "You may as well have spelled your fucking name in neon lights. They knew you would save the boy! They weren't trying to kill him, they were getting him involved in this world, in this War. Trying to expose him to your grace, which is in part, Lucifer and Michael's grace. You played right into their hands!"

Sam turns away from him and all around him the physical world recedes. Lucifer is inside him again, the agony of corrupted grace in every pore and Sam is burning, pressed into the cage. Sam is lost in the fire and madness and the guilt- every fucking step made with good intentions but this is something inside of him. Even now, even sanctioned by _God,_ he's handing the Devil the world on a platter. Only now it's only himself, but Ben. Ben who's only seventeen and doesn't know _anything_ yet. Ben whose _Dean's, _and Sam can't imagine anything worse than Lucifer smiling out of that kid's face. Ben burning the way Sam burnt and still burns and will never stop.

Coolness erupts into the center of his break down and Gabriel is suddenly _right there_, all encompassing. His wings encircling Sam's own in a rush of grace and light and _oh_- Sam didn't even know they could do this.

The ruminants of Lucifer flee in the wake of it; the shudder of Light _on_ shadow and _in_ shadow until there is none. Until Sam is nothing of himself at all.

Then Gabriel draws back and Sam returns into the physical; where he is gasping quietly and shaking and has no idea really, what just happened.

Gabriel is staring at him, as though he doesn't know either, but Sam can see something akin to fear lurking at his edges.

"Forget that." He says sharply "just- forget that ever even happened."

Sam opens his mouth sharply, because hell, if that never worked for Dean it's certainly not going to for Gabe.

"Sam" _(raspberry syrup/ holy fire/ Kali holding up a vial of blood)_ "Just leave it, _please_! You were freaking out and I- but we have so much _other shit_ to deal with right now and we don't need that too. So, just_ don't_."

Sam wants to say no, wants to say that its hard for him to just forget it when he still doesn't even know what it was, but the fear in Gabriel has morphed into fully fledged panic and so he shuts up.

There is silence for a moment, an awkward swell that hasn't existed between them since those early days. Back when Sam still disliked Gabe and refused to trust him. It's been a long time since then and Gabriel's his best friend now, he's stuck by Sam and Cas through everything, by Sam through all this latest shit. And… and Sam gets the impression they've just done something momentous. He just wants to _understand._

But Gabriel is gathering himself, moving away from the incident, away from _Sam_.

"We need to find Cas and your brother as quickly as possible." He says, "Forget the last fire for now, you need to start using that amulet. The demons can wait, locating Michael's vessel can't. And on that note, watch that Kid closely for God's sake. If whoever's behind this, demon or angel, gets their hands on him now that you've touched him with your mojo we'll be so fucked, it won't even matter if Chuck comes back. I'm going to do some more infomation gathering. I have more contacts than that British Bastard and we're going to need all of them."

His expression softens suddenly, and there is _( Kali standing at the edge of a mountain stream/ Mary looking terrified at the Annunciation/ A teenage boy biting uncertainly on his lower lip.) _"I'll be back." He tells Sam, "In a day or two, I promise. And after, after this is all over, assuming neither or both of us don't die again, we can talk. It's not…It's not a bad _thing_ Sam. It's just a bad _time_."

He disappears leaving Sam more confused than ever, but, nonetheless, strangely relieved.

**-t.b.c-**

**So next chapter will be out in a couple of days. Cas and Dean (and guest) so no Sam. After that well…maybe both?**

**Also, The blue button down there? It's my inspiration button. XP**

**Reviews are love 3. **


	10. Interlude 2

**A/n: Hey sorry for the long delay; I've been working heaps in the last four days and then yesterday was father's day. But here it is; interlude 2.**

**Small warning for language. Also at one point Dean uses a derogatory term for extreme Christians. This Stance is taken from the episode 5.04, the End, and is not my personal sentiment. No offense is ment.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Poem extract ts Eliot.**

**oOoOoOoOoOo**

**Interlude 2**

_Is it like this_

_In death's other kingdom_

_Waking alone_

_At the hour when we are_

_Trembling with tenderness_

_Lips that would kiss _

_Form prayers to broken stone_

Ts. Eliot, _the hollow men_.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Castiel remembers being human.

The years in the absence of Dean had been less painful than he might have supposed them to be. Between Gabriel and Samuel, unexpected gifts from a forgiving father, Castiel has not been alone in his quest to restore Heaven. He has been blessed with the company of old friends and the power necessary to create change. He has been allowed his beautiful, confusing, fragile memories of mortality.

Castiel remembers; the quiet laughter before a hunt. Sam bent over some old tomb, his soft mutterings almost soothing. The way Dean's hands curved over cloth and oil when he cleaned the guns, how Cas could not look away from it.

Castiel remembers heat and cold and heartache and the rawness of being alive. Oh _yes_, Castiel _Remembers._

But Castiel is not human, even if he remembers being so. Castiel is not, and angels have a tendency when they do feel, to be ruled by that single emotion, to let it govern their reasoning.

This is not an excuse, Castiel knows he has none suitable. It's not an excuse or exoneration, it's an explanation. Because while there are many logical, strategic reasons for doing what he did, they are not the reason he did it.

He just wanted Dean to be safe.

oOoOoOoOoOo

_Fort Morgan, Colorado_

After the restless spirit was taken care of they'd headed north. Dean had found several suspicious deaths in the newspaper that looked to be the work of a coven. Castiel had been uneasy with the hunt, tied as closely as witches were with demons, but his fear had been unfounded. The hunt had been successful and there was no hint that any notice had been taken of their activities.

They are in their motel room with the two single beds, as all their rooms the last two months have had. Castiel does not understand the necessity, as he does not sleep, but Dean always insists, an uncomfortable look on his face as he mutters about appearances. Castiel imagines it has something to do with sex; most human taboos seem to.

Dean has been quiet for the last hour or so and Castiel knows he is thinking about Indiana- the woman and boy he left there- as he often does. Dean has never talked about returning, never even threatened it in the midst of his irritation over Castiel's silence, but Castiel knows he thinks of it. He knows this, just as he knows that Dean will not.

For all he loves the humans he left, for all he promised a well-meaning Samuel, Castiel understands why he is almost relieved by the departure.

Hunting is in Dean's blood, not just the weighty blood of his father, but that of his mother too, whose line stretches back all the way to Samuel Colt himself. Dean and Sam were breed for this. It is but one tragedy among a vast multitude for the Winchester brothers; that they can never truly find happiness away from it, however much they might wish it. Even with the reconfiguration of everything he was made of, Sam is still most contented when he is on assignment. Castiel doubts that Lisa could change what Grace and a thousand years could not.

It is late now, the slight rat-tat of drizzle hitting the roof. Castiel moves over to the coffee maker in the kitchenette, deciding on making himself a cup. This small pleasure of his had apparently 'freaked the Bejesus' out of Dean when he'd first ordered one at a dinner, two days after their reunion. But Samuel has long ago convinced him that they must not give up all their humanity. Why else would they have been chosen to lead this revolution if not for their better understanding of God's most-beloved creation?

Certainly Cas often thinks that Samuel and Gabriel spend too much of their time understanding. He still does not believe that 'Christ would have totally approved baby bro' as Gabriel told him when he caught them, not only with alcohol, but a quantity Gabriel broke the eighth human law of their father's to procure. Samuel had at least attempted to look ashamed, but then Gabriel had turned the beer into water and then once again into wine as proof of Christ's 'coolness' and Samuel had not been able to contain his own laughter.

Returning to the present, Castiel catches Dean giving him a long searching look and removes the coffee cup from his lips "Yes Dean?" he asks.

Dean gets an embarrassed expression on his face. "You just looked, amused." He says awkwardly. "You know, for _you_ anyway, and I was just wondering what…I mean, not exactly a whole lot going on good old Fort Morgan."

"I was mentally recounting one of the transgression committed by two of my brothers." He tells Dean, "they had taken some human beer without purchasing it properly from its former owner. Upon my inquiry, they informed me that the Son of God would have approved because of one of his most famous miracles."

Dean's eyebrows bunch, as if he can' quite believe what Castiel is saying, though he is reasonably sure that he spoke quite clearly. "You mean two angels stole a six pack and then said that Christ would have liked it? " He says incredulously, "I can't decide if that's awesome or kind of terrifying."

At Castiel's confused look he continues, "Well if they're happy to break all the little rules about stealing and eating and all that, what's their stance on the big ones, like '_I shalt not smite those who piss me off?"_

Castiel would have liked to ease Dean's fear but there have been many nights of Gabriel recounting in full, all the variety of ways that he smote human 'douchebags' during his time as the pagan god Loki. Castiel is mostly certain that now he has retuned to his heavenly duties, Gabriel would restrain himself but he cannot be entirely sure.

Dean seems to read this in his face. "Oh my god, they totally would, wouldn't they!"

"One may be tempted." Castiel settles on at last because this he knows is true, knows there are lines Sam will never cross. "But the other would certainly stop him."

Dean looks away and then back again, his hands moving against one another in a slightly nervous fashion. "You never talk about it." He tells Castiel, "This is the most I've ever heard you say about Upstairs. And yeah, I didn't give you the best send off." He admits and Castiel recalls once again that last conversation in the car, Dean vibrating with rage and grief. He's never really blamed Dean for that reaction, not when his friend had just lost Sam and Castiel was leaving to rebuild the establishment that had, in part, caused his demise.

"But, I mean," Dean continues, looking distinctly uncomfortable, as he often does when he is forced to speak on matters concerning his emotions "you can…you know, talk about it."

Castiel smiles, not his reserved mouth twitch, but the one Samuel had made him practice after he'd caused a small Egyptian girl in the fourth century to start crying. Dean gives him a look filled with almost as much fear as that child and Castiel reins it back slightly. "Thank you," he tells him.

Dean is still staring at him. "Yes. Right. Cas, you need to _warn people_ before do that. Because that was scary. Like really, really scary."

Dean is attempting to draw his attention away from his previous offer, due to his dislike of showing his personal feelings. Castiel lets him, even though there are things Dean should know, things Castiel should tell him. Things Castiel will not.

Samuel has been in heaven a long time now, but always the separation from his brother lies as a visible wound. Dean is no different, perhaps worse in his grief, still believing Sam to be endlessly suffering at the hands of Lucifer.

It was one thing, when the First Law stood between them, an uncrossable divide, but now that he has broken this he has little justification for his silence. His only rationalization is that if Dean knew of Sam's salvation, he would insist on reconciliation and Castiel sacrifice will have been for nothing.

His intrusion upon Dean, whom none were allowed to touch, will not be cast aside lightly. Will likely plunge Heaven into the war Castiel has been avoiding since he began its restructure. It will be worth this, to Castiel in his selfish passions, if Dean immerges whole and unaffected by it. But should Dean become aware of Samuel, it will be impossible to keep him safe from the hostilities.

Dean will become embroiled once more; in the corruption of Angels and he will lose even more of himself than he has previously.

And Castiel _can't_. He just can't.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"I think Denver next." Dean tells him some time later.

He is stretched out on the bed, which is Castiel's in name only. His bare feet are shoved on top of the pillows at the headboard and he has the laptop open before him. "There's been some real strange murders up there recently. I think it might be a shapeshifter." He finishes with a grimace.

Castiel nods, though he needn't bother. Dean will hunt what he finds and Cas is only willing to challenge him on this over demons. It isn't so much the hunting that is important to the angel (though he knows it makes Dean happy) but rather the hunter's nomadic lifestyle. The more they move around, the harder they are to find, especially with the symbols carved forever into Dean's ribs. Cas, who has spent years in the company of Gabriel, also now knows far more about hiding his grace than he used to.

He knows they cannot hide forever. Knows that in some ways he is merely delaying the inevitable, but he hopes if they run far enough and fast enough, the solution may fall into their lap. It would not be the first time. That is the luck of the Winchester's after all; miraculous and terrible by turns.

The door swings open suddenly, even though it was locked, and Castiel's heart plummets. Murphy is every part the cruel force Samuel had claimed him to be and this time it seems, they are destined for the latter brand of Winchester fortune.

Cas knows Dean does not recognize the creature that walks through the doorway. Does not know that the shotgun he is already leveling will be useless. The skin worn is different; younger and larger, but Castiel can sense the grace in all its age and splendor, second only now to Gabriel's. Of all the angels to find them this is the one he feared the most, his main combatant in the struggle for Heaven's fate. He takes a step forward, placing himself between Dean and his brother. "Hello Raphael."

Behind him Dean's grip on the rifle twitches and a low curse slips from his lips. Castiel ignores him, all his attention focused on the other archangel. "May I enquire as to your ability to find us?" he asks.

Raphael is different from the other angels Castiel has opposed before, he does not mock them like Zachariah or sneer as Uriel might have. There is anger in Raphael certainly. Distain and disgust are just as prevalent a force upon him, as the other two had openly displayed. He keeps himself in check however, plays his cards with a softer hand. It makes him unbelievably more dangerous.

"The system was already in place, from your last attempt at stealth Castiel," Raphael rumbles, "all that was needed was to seek contact with those sources once more."

"There was a Bible Basher outside the laundry mat yesterday." Dean hisses from behind him, "He gave me a funny look."

Raphael shifts his focus from angel to human and smiles in a fashion that, while intended to be friendly, is nothing short of predatory. "Dean Winchester, just the man I came to visit." He says.

Dean has lowered the shotgun, and drawn a knife instead. Castiel does not understand his friends reasoning in this decision; both are ineffectual against warriors of the Lord. Dean glares at Raphael and his voice is scornful, "And why is that?" he rebuffs.

Raphael goes to take a step forward, but stops at the threatening look Castiel shots him. He grins at the angel, bright malice filling the expression.

"For the rings of course." He says innocently. "You were a perfect guardian while you were protected by God's ruling, but now that Castiel here has interference by Heaven and Hell upon you and yours possible, they are no longer safe in your care. The demons will not stop their hunt for you until they posses them. Surely the attack has taught you that at least. Better I take them."

The knife Dean previously held at the ready has dropped to his side and Castiel is terrified by what Raphael knows. He is far too smug for this to be a ruse.

"What attack." Dean asks slowly.

Raphael frowns at him, appearing almost genuinely confused, "the one upon your previous residence. It cost the life of the human woman with whom you committed sins of the flesh, though it seems as if the child survived. We cannot be sure however as we have yet to locate him." He looks up and down Dean's shocked form, triumph barely concealed. "You mean you did not know what your abandonment cost?" he asks.

Dean is shaking, his knuckles white where he grips the knife. "I- Your lying you fucker." He spits, but there is doubt in his tone.

Raphael stalks forward and this time Cas does not stop him. "What else has Castiel kept from you?" He questions softly. "What else has he deemed you not worthy of knowing? Surely he has divulged the fate of your brother. Not even he could be that cruel."

Cas closes his eyes. He has already lost.

"What about Sam?" Dean growls "What the hell do you know about my brother?"

Raphael laughs in quiet incredulity, his amazement momentarily overriding his ability to fake sincerity. "You mean that you _don't_ know?" he exclaims, "you mean to tell me that Cas has let you believe Samuel to be locked in the darkest regions of the underworld? That he has not told you of Samuel _glorious_ ascension?"

Dean stutters another half-hearted denial, but Raphael cuts over him, for the first time his revolution tainting his tone. "Oh yes Dean, Samuel fancies himself an Angel now. As if we of the Garrison don't know he stole his Grace, and from whom. He and the Great Coward Gabriel and the Rebellious Castiel here are in cohorts to take over Heaven. A familiar story, don't you think Dean? And one that did not end well for my dear brother Lucifer or poor Michael."

His face contorts as he continues, "Filthy creatures they are, your brother and mine, who immerse themselves in human pleasures and flout the lesser laws of our order. But neither as much as Castiel here, it seems, who treads upon your free will. Your gift from our Father, that which you prize above all else. He treats it as nothing more than an _inconvenience_, to the ruin of all us."

Castiel glares fiercely at Raphael, unwilling to hear another ill word from the one who once killed him, about those he considers his family. "You would be wise to hold your tongue about that which you do not and cannot understand!" Cas growls, "What you claim as taint, is the Truth of our father, everlasting in it's brilliance. Your failure to see that is no doubt the reason he continues to refuse to appear to you. Samuel is not the abomination, he is The Way. The means by which we may bridge the gap between our kind and Humanity. He is also your equal brother, as are Gabriel and myself, a fact you would be wise to remember."

To Castiel's surprise, Raphael does not look chastened; rather as if he has won their quarrel and his eyes are looking past Castiel.

Looking at Dean, who in his unfettered anger at Raphael provocation, Cas had forgotten was standing there, listening to every word he spoke.

Castiel opens his mouth, floundering for an explanation and unable speak anything. Dean is looking at him like he is every vile thing that he has killed in the dark. The worst sort of traitor imaginable and it conjures a response Castiel is ill-used to; has experienced a bare handful of times.

"The rings Human." Raphael interrupts their impasse, drawing Dean attention back to him "If you would be so kind."

Dean glances at Castiel "I'm gonna want a fucking explanation for this later." He growls softly, before returning to Raphael and replying in a louder voice, "Yeah about that. See, Angels? About as trust worthy as you can throw 'em. Me handing over items which seal away your much worshiped big bro? Really _not_ going to happen."

Raphael growls, having long ago forgone all pretenses, "And what makes you think you have a choice, Mud Ape?"

Dean grins, victorious and feral, "But the systems were already in place from the last time you guys were dickholes." He mocks, "All we need is the connection. And me? I got myself an addition to that useful little anti possession mark in the last six years." Still smiling, he slices the knife down palm and rips his shirt open.

Castiel just has time to see the black-inked Enochian on previously unmarked skin before Dean slams his bleeding hand over it and Castiel and Raphael both are ripped from the motel room and out into the vastness of the Cosmos.

**-t.b.c-**

**review? Pwease? XD**

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

**Cookie for Neph. Parody. AU. Unrelated to Sold My Red Horse.**

So, the cage hadn't exactly been everything Sam had expected. He'd been thinking Eliot reversed, with a bang not a whimper, or quite possibly Frost's I hold with those who favor fire.

What he'd gotten was the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

No body was wearing enough clothes, the devil kept breaking into song and to be honest, he didn't know any of them enough to see that much of their junk.

Except for Adam, who was his brother and Sam wouldn't _ever _have want to see that much of.

And just when he'd thought that his younger brother had managed to do what years of his older brother (the king of all vulgar and debauched activities) could not and drive him completely mental, Gabriel had turned out in a lai and a grass skirt and said that their sober driver was here.

Sam's fairly sure that that, was the exact moment he fell in love with him.

.

Heaven also, not what he pictured, it turns out. Not that he'd been expecting much after the last time he was here and just getting his hands on a pair of pants had seemed like eternal salvation as far as he was concerned. But yeah, the place resembled more than anything, an English gentlemen's club, which Gabriel grinning had dubbed the executive lounge.

At the time, Sam hadn't gotten the joke. It wasn't until later when he was discussing rules with Cas, who passingly mentioned that humans weren't allowed in this area, that Sam realized this had been Gabriel's eat-the-paste-special way of telling him he was in the angel club.

Which Lucifer and Michael are also still in unfortunately. Sam's kind of convinced that trying to destroy the planet should get you expelled or at lest suspended, but apparently not. They're on probation, according to a grinning Gabriel, for being naughty little seraphs and mucking with the greater plan. Gabriel has taken to calling them probies whenever he can. As a younger brother also, Sam can appreciate this initiative.

In any case, god is still merciful, because Adam has gone to eternal rest with his mother. Sam is unspeakably glad. Love the kid he might, but he'll never be entirely comfortable around him again. There's only so much nudist musical theater he can take.

So, this is life, Michael and Lucifer performing menial tasks for them while Gabriel constantly invents new and interesting ways to try get into Sam's pants and Castiel tries to save the known universe in one corner and gets cranky if you disturb him.

It's all going rather swimmingly until Gabriel, as if noticing his absence for the first time, pipes up "Hey, where's Raphy?"

Michael and Lucifer look up from where they're cleaning the carpet with a single grain of rice and indicate their ignorance. Sam himself, has never meet Raphael and says as much.

As one they turn to the corner where Cas' mutterings have stopped and said angel has gone very, very still.

"Cassy?" Gabriel says in a friendly tone "What did you do to your big brother?"

Castiel straightens "I…I did nothing harmful to Raphael." He says at last and Sam doesn't doubt it's the truth.

"I…I have an errand to run." Castiel continues, not looking at any of them "Something rather important seems to have slipped my mind." He takes off at- not a run but only because Sam thinks he's actively trying not to.

Gabriel rubs his hands together gleefully "Ohhh he's in so much shit." He cackles "Daddy's gonna kill him."

Sam sits up as Michael and Lucifer return to their impossible task. "I'm sure Chuck will cut him some slack, he's been a little busy saving all of creation after all."

Gabriel snorts "Yeah, but Raphy's been in that circle for months! And he's really not going to care about the state of the cosmos. Just that he's got Andrew Lloyd Webber stuck in his head."

Sam eyes widen "But…you mean you already knew? Why didn't you remind Cas earlier then?"

Gabriel lops an arm over his shoulder "I wasn't board enough." He tells Sam seriously. One eyebrow rises in inquisition and Sam knows exactly what he's going to ask.

"So, wanna make out?"

**Yeah, again, no comment.**


	11. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hi? I'm so very sorry for the extremely lengthy delay in posting this chapter. Unfortunately RL kind of got nine kinds of crazy over the last little while. The next chapter may be a couple of weeks too as I have my end of year exams until the 16****th**** of Nov. **

**Anyway we're back at bobby's this chapter and from a brand now POV that was rather challenging to write actually. I hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Do not own SPN, poem extract Philip Larkin.**

**ooooooooo**

**Chapter 8**

_And so it stays just on the edge of vision,_

_A small unfocused blur, a standing chill_

_That slows each impulse down to indecision._

_Most things may never happen: this one will._

Philip Larkin, Abade.

ooooooooo

Michael wakes with the notion that the world is about to change.

He has always been like this. When he was six he'd gotten a cold clang, like frozen iron, rattle through his head. He'd screamed so loudly his mother had dropped the pan she had been holding of eggs ready for breakfast. She scolded him for scaring her and his then infant brother before putting the incident away as some symptom of childhood.

Four hours later his father had slipped from an icy ladder while hanging Christmas lights and died.

Years later, when Asher was sick, Michael was ball of fear and worry held together by pure twelve year old bravado. The only reason he'd listened, to two strange men named Sam and Dean, was because the afternoon had seemed to flicker gold a moment before they walked through the door.

The day _before_ he'd lost virginity, Michael couldn't stop grinning.

He's never been entirely comfortable with it, this…whatever it is he does. After he meet the Winchesters especially, after he learned how terrifying the universe really was, he'd been a little afraid of this part of himself, of what it means about his nature. There have been many occasions over the years where he'd wished fervently, that it would just stop.

But then it had. Then Michael had hung around at Alice's a little too long even as three streets away his Mother burned.

He hadn't known, the world had hung silent, no whisper or ripple in through the air around him. He'd arrived home to grizzly face firemen and bright flames in a summer sky.

The shock of it; the shock of _not knowing_ was so foreign that he hadn't known how to breathe.

And then a month without a whisper. In which Michael had lived without any warning or indications. He'd felt like a newly blind man. Not even the reappearance of Sam, who once turned the dusk gold, caused a stir.

Michael had begun to think that all those misguided, those tritely _-be careful what you wish for- _prayers had worked and whatever ability he'd possessed was lost.

But it is here, just as sudden and familiar, like it never stopped. Through the drift of sunlight over dust, his sheets slightly damp with sweat and musty from neglect. Over Ben, still asleep across the room, his expression easy and breath slow.

_Here_ -In all of the stillness there is a weight, like the hang of water before a storm. Something is coming and Michael thinks that it feels like Gravity; Something irresistible and undeniable, a fundamental of the universe.

From downstairs he hears Bobby bellow, the dull clatter of kitchenware, signaling that breakfast is ready. Ben starts, almost rolling off the side of his bed; he blinks tired green eyes up at Michael, mumbling incomprehensibly.

Michael sits up and kicks the sheets down, switching his focus to the outer world. He has learned, painstakingly across many years, that he cannot decode these messages until they come to pass. All he can do now, is try not to worry too much about unavoidable things.

ooooooooo

Downstairs Bobby is swearing lightly over a smoking pan. His back is to the table, which already has plates of eggs and toast and beans. Across from them Sam sits quietly, hands around a steaming coffee mug, one of the few things Michael has seen him consume in the past week.

Ben slumps down into a chair and reaches for an orange juice. He's not much of a morning person, and he sips the juice and grabs a piece of toast with an unhappy air. Bobby clatters over, dropping a stack of slightly singed bacon between them. He glances at Sam's mug and humps as he sits down beside him, pulling the egg plate towards himself. "Something wrong with the food kid?" he growls.

Sam blinks at him. "Not at all, Bobby." He says pleasantly "But I don't really need it, and the boys look hungry."

Michael tunes them out as he himself joins the table. It's the same argument every morning. Bobby seems to have difficulty with Sam's sometimes overtly inhumanness and Sam, while sympathetic, is unwilling to pretend for his comfort.

Michael's not entirely sure why Bobby finds it such an issue, because yeah, he hunts monsters, but Sam isn't exactly dangerous in his boycott. He thinks maybe it has something to do with how Sam used to be human and how he isn't anymore but Michael doesn't know enough about how that happened yet to be sure.

Michael doesn't know a hell of a lot about anything that's going on. He can't ask Sam really, Sam's not around enough for that. He's always somewhere else in the country, looking for Dean with his Angel teleportation thingy. Michael thinks he only comes back the way does for Ben, but he finds himself glad for it too. Sam is the closest thing to familiar he has right now. Apart from the message he left on Asher's cell phone (three days ago and as yet unanswered,) he's had no contact with his prior life.

He and Ben spend most of their time with Bobby; the old hunter gruffly training them in demon law and the way to look after the various weapons they'll be using. Michael thinks he does it to simply to do _something_ with them. It's entirely obvious, not just from that first fight between him and Sam, that Bobby doesn't want them involved at all. Michael knows no good will come of questioning him.

Ben doesn't know much more than Michael, but he imparted what little knowledge he has, in the hush of their room at night. There was a war apparently, about six years ago and Michael certainly remembers how the world seemed to be going to hell in a hand basket back then. The Winchesters were involved and, according to Ben, the only thing Dean had ever been willing to say on the subject in all the years he lived with Ben and his mother, was that Sam died and it stopped.

How they have come to be here now; Dean missing, demons on the lose again, Sam an Angel, Michael has no idea. But, from the way Bobby and Sam look at each other sometimes, he can't help but wonder if their isn't going to be another one. One with him and Ben, who's younger even than his baby brother, right in the middle of it.

Ben is frowning, his young face serious "Where's Gabriel?" he asks Sam. Michael's never meet Gabriel but He grew up in a motel with bibles in the draws so he knows all the stories. He still is having trouble with the idea that angels let a lone Archangels of God are real, but according to Ben he'd been around a lot before he arrived.

He doesn't seem to be like the stories much though. Ben describes him as 'short, and a bit of a jerk' and it's obvious from Bobby's face whenever his name gets mentioned that the man doesn't like him at all. Then again Sam, isn't exactly what he pictured either, there is a distinct lack of a halo and a gown, though Sam did assure a curious Ben a few days ago, that he does indeed have wings.

Sam sets down his coffee mug, from this angle Michael can see that it's still mostly full but there is a finality in Sam's actions that says far more than his features do. "He's off information gathering." Sam tells Ben "Gabriel's been around a long time, he knows a lot of people."

"You mean he knows a lot of monsters." Bobby growls softly.

Ben tilts his head at this "What do you mean?" he asks. Michael fairly sure that the kid doesn't even know what he's doing, that Ben is just one of those boys who simply do not know when to let things go. Sam sends Bobby an unhappy expression and opens his mouth in a hesitant reply "Well, the thing about Gabriel…"

They stop sudden; the change to their breathing like the weight Michael felt when he woke this morning. Bobby and Ben have spun around to face the drive, but it is Sam Michael is watching.

Sam is so very still, so inhumanly _still_, like he's momentarily forgotten all the tiny actions he normally performs for their comfort. The air around him flickers with…_Sam is_…

Michael cannot comprehend him with words. In this moment he is something Bright and Good and Terrible. Like every instance of knowing he has ever had.

It is the sound of an engine, which has them all so thourally enthralled. The loud rumble of metal and fuel. Even Michael half-remembers this sound from what feels like a thousand years ago.

Ben stands; his chair thrown back with a clatter and he is running. Bobby follows him, a soft exclamation of disbelief passing his lips as he hurries after old legs.

Even when Sam moves he is static; his limbs sliding through the air as though being relocated through space not by action, but thought. Michael thinks that Sam is managing only the bare fundamentals of this form. He's not consciously considered before, the true nature of Angels. Before Sam has always been seemingly real and physical, like a man with extra attributes. Now he doesn't half think that maybe Sam is far more fluid than that. Something of light and grace and power presented to them in an understandable way.

He follows Sam, step behind step to the front door. Sam stops short, a crackle around him almost like electricity only more distorted -the passing twist of time rippling and tearing over his edges- Michael slips past him, nervous and slightly awed, onto the deck.

Bobby is at the last porch step and has stopped also. Beyond him, in the gravel yard the Impala gleams in the morning sun, her ebony and chrome winking bright reflections.

Dean is in front of her, like a window to the past every facet of him just as it exists in Michael's memory. Only now Ben is caught up in his arms, the two of them clinging to each other in a mutual loss that catches Michael unawares in its intensity. He forgets sometimes, in the face of Sam and his endless inhuman longing, how important Dean is to Ben too.

And then Dean looks up, past Bobby in his halfway between, unnoticing of Michael hidden by the shadow of the veranda.

Dean looks up and sees Sam waiting for him.

And Michael thinks that it feels like Gravity.

ooooooooooo

**So, what did we think? Enjoy? Hate? Wondering what the hell Sam and Dean will do next or what Michael's brand of shining is? Want to tell me off for taking so long? Please all comments and critique is welcome.**


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